


The Hale Diamond Heist

by Lost_Girl_02



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but also everything happens in like a week), (in the sense that it takes a lot of words to get everyone together), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassins!Maleo, Bodyguard!Isaac, Combat Expert!Allison, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship (briefly), Happy Ending, Heiress!Cora, M/M, Mainly Stydia and Scallison, Mission: Impossible AU, Slow Burn, T but close to M (mostly for language a little violence and slight sexy thoughts), Team Leader!Scott, Techie!Danny, actress!Lydia, but decent development for the rest, it gets a little dark but not for long, sorry I'm bad at tagging, spy!stiles, this is just a fun action/spy fic with lots of relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27454144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Girl_02/pseuds/Lost_Girl_02
Summary: It sounds simple: steal a diamond, get out before anyone realizes it's gone. The IMF has certainly taken on harder missions, but with a name like the "Impossible Mission Force" any assignment is harder than it seems.From the get go, Scott McCall and his team have to deal with mercenaries, assassins, infiltrating a twenty-one year old heiress's birthday party, and that's not even mentioning the relationships between one another.Five young agents trying to pull off an impossible mission and not lose each other along the way.***Or, that Mission: Impossible/heist AU no one asked for
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey (Background), Ethan/Danny Mahealani, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken/Malia Tate (background)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	1. Prologue: Mission Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott receive a mission...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Welcome to this little Mission Impossible AU I came up with. (Well, not that little b/c I've finished writing it and it's the longest thing I've ever written!) But you don't need to know anything about the Mission Impossible movies to enjoy this fic, there are some Easter eggs for those who are in both fandoms but I have a feeling there's very little crossover (maybe just me lol).
> 
> I finished this as part of NaNoWriMo, but now that means I have to work on actual other fics/stories that I need to write.
> 
> Also, I literally just started Teen Wolf in September and binged the whole show in like 3 weeks and am now completely obsessed in the year 2020. Stydia is literally OTP status, and I have so many ideas, this was just the one that I finished first.
> 
> This is just a quick prologue, but since I have everything written out, I'll have the next chapter out either later today or tomorrow.
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Teen Wolf or Mission Impossible
> 
> Enjoy!

The IMF headquarters in Los Angeles was housed in a nondescript building right off the 405, and if one wasn't looking for it, the building just looked like any other office high-rise in the area. But once you knew what you were looking for, it stuck out like a sore thumb. The color was just slightly off and the "Intercounty Motorway Fund" sign at the top of the building seemed too conspicuous. If it wasn't bad enough that they used the same initials as the IMF, it didn't even sound believable.

Stiles couldn't help but feel a pang in his stomach every time he passed the building, wondering if hiding in plain sight was too risky. After all, it was still _plain sight_.

Chewing his nail, Stiles looked up at the sign as he walked into the headquarters. The lobby kept up the appearance of a normal office building—nondescript chairs and low tables scattered across the tiled floor, high ceilings and windows making the whole space seem bigger, a receptionists' desk curving along one wall, and a lone employee manning the computers looking bored out of his mind.

"Stilinski, floor forty-two," he told said bored receptionist, flashing his ID badge.

The receptionist looked up, a blond kid named Liam that Stiles had noticed in the rotation for the past couple months, and studied his badge. Stiles knew that he didn't look like the kind of person who belonged in the building, it was his day off so he felt zero remorse at coming in wearing jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt. And with his hair sticking up in whatever which way it wanted to, he looked closer to a hipster barista than an IMF agent.

"Fo-fourty-two you said, Mr. M-Mie..."

"Just call me Stiles," he said, taking pity on Liam, saving him from the trouble of trying to pronounce the mess of consonants that was his first name. "You new here?"

"Yeah, started a couple months ago," Liam nodded, handing over the key for the elevator after Stiles' ID checked out with the computer.

Stiles remembered his own time working the front lobby, knowing they made rookie agents work the rotation for almost a year in between training and smaller missions. It had been nearly impossible for him to sit still during those mind-numbing hours at the desk, with absolutely nothing to do, his ADHD kicking in in a way it hadn't since he went on Adderall when he was ten.

"Hey man, it gets better," he said, making his way to the elevator.

"You sure?" Liam responded dryly, like he didn't actually believe Stiles. "Cause all they're having me do is answer calls and check people in...not exactly what I had in mind."

"Trust me, if I could make it, you can," Stiles grinned as the kid looked at him flatly, figuring he could stand to haze the newbie a little. "Just be sure to keep the porn to a minimum, someone has to use the desk after you."

Liam's face turned an alarming shade of red, spluttering out half-formed words and protestations, but the elevator doors had already closed. _Welcome to the Impossible Mission Force_ , Stiles thought with a grin.

It was a surprisingly short ride up to the forty-second floor, but it was enough time for the anxiety to set in once again. Scott never called him in outside of his normal hours unless it was serious—which for Scott meant anything from he forgot a present for his mom's birthday or was currently bleeding out and needed a ride to the IMF-friendly hospital. And Stiles had a feeling this call leaned more towards the second kind.

Before he could spiral much further, the elevator doors opened, revealing the IMF headquarters—the entire top floor of the building was converted into an office space, windows fitted with bulletproof glass lined the wall looking out on the highway, and huge computer monitors took up the wall next to it. Deaton's office was opposite the monitors, a large window looking into the office made it easier for the operations manager to see what the team was working on. The middle of the floor was made up of tables and desks in doubled-up rows to make a large square, monitors placed every so often indicating a workstation.

The LA branch of the IMF was a small operation, so Stiles nodded to Danny, their resident tech extraordinaire and hacker supreme, and Mason, another rookie that was starting in the research and tech ops departments—the senior agent clearly throwing his rookie right into the late nights-slash-early mornings that were standard for them. Danny, knowing something was up because Stiles never came in before 9 AM if he could help it (unless he had "slept" at the office and then he had just never left), gave him a questioning glance, but the dark-haired young man just shrugged.

Scott's office as the lead agent was across the small hallway from Deaton's, an interrogation room and a conference room rounding out the rest of the enclosed rooms on the floor.

Not bothering to knock on the door, Stiles burst into the small office. "What the hell, man? It's four fucking thirty in the morning, what couldn't wait until normal business hours?"

"Hello to you too, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton's steady voice interrupted his train of thought.

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times in surprise, as his eyes slid from his dark-haired best friend to the second man in the room. "Mr. Operations Manager," Stiles replied, "do you happen to know the reason I'm here instead of sleeping right now?"

"You mean barely napping after researching Peter Hale until three in the morning?" Scott retorted under his breath, but clearly still loud enough for both Stiles and Deaton to hear.

"Not the point," he shot back, actually pointing at his best friend. "The _point_ is that I _should_ be sleeping instead of freaking out because I don't think you would call me saying 'I need you at the office in thirty' just for a pep talk or to tell you our parents' anniversary is in two weeks so, yeah, you should probably start thinking of what to get them 'cause I am _not_ letting you piggyback off my present this year."

"While I am sure Ms. McCall will appreciate your reminder to Scott," Deaton said when Stiles stopped to take a breath, "there are slightly more pressing matters to attend to."

Gesturing for the older man to proceed, Stiles flopped down into the chair next to Deaton across from Scott.

"I'm assuming the reason Scott called you in so early was because there's something I wished to discuss with him, but when I mentioned it would have to be strictly off the books, he insisted on waiting until you arrived."

"Good call Scotty," Stiles winked at his friend, glad that their agreement to never take an under the table job without the other had held. Although he _would_ be confronting Scott on his all hours work habits. Only one of them was allowed to be an insomniac and Stiles has had that position locked down since high school.

"As I was saying," Deaton continued, "I have a mission for you, should you choose to accept it, but I can only tell you the specifics after you accept. But know that you two and your team would be on your own for this mission, minimal resources, and disavowed should you be recognized...not just apprehended. The mission is dangerous...the phrase high risk-high reward comes to mind."

The two young agents shared a look but Stiles already knew that Scott wanted to accept, he had a hero's complex a mile wide, and Stiles would never let his friend go into danger without him. They worked best as a team, when they were in the field there was no one they trusted more to watch each other's back, and if Scott was on board, Stiles wasn't far behind. Besides, the clandestine nature of it all had piqued his interest. He wanted to accept just to know what the mission was.

"We accept," Scott replied, nodding for the operations manager to continue.

"We need you to steal the Hale Diamond."

Stiles actually laughed out loud. "Bullshit. I mean, is this seriously some kind of practical joke, because I am _way too tired_ to find it funny."

Deaton looked at him with his usual stoic countenance, and the seriousness in his eyes and etched into every line of his somber face.

"Oh, you're not joking," Stiles said dumbly, his mouth dropping open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking a chance on this fic! Please leave comments or kudos if you're so inclined, I really appreciate the feedback.
> 
> Like I said, the next chapter should be up later today.
> 
> Thanks again and see you in the next chapter!


	2. Chapter One: Make the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the team receives the mission. Some research and recon is done. Some feelings start to develop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the technical first chapter of this Mission Impossible AU!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy, this is kind of an exposition chapter, but everyone knows that setting up for the heist is super crucial and some of the best parts of those movies.
> 
> Also, the title is part of a quote from Leonard Snart on the Flash CW show. Once again, I don't know how much fandom crossover there is, but if you know the quote, you probably have a feeling where this fic is going (or at least the chapter titles).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Not Teen Wolf or Mission Impossible or The Flash.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lydia's heels echoed on the tiled floors of the lobby as she strode confidently towards the receptionists' desk. Since it was just past nine in the morning, Lydia blended in with the businesspeople that were milling about the lobby, some standing in line at the coffee station in the middle of the open-air foyer. Her navy blue pencil skirt might be a little shorter than other women would be comfortable wearing to the office, her white silk blouse a bit more low cut, but she could care less.

It had been two months, but she still felt the need for her short skirts and cleavage-baring tops, heels that made her feel a foot taller than her five-foot-three height and bright red lipstick was her armor.

"Lydia Martin for floor forty-two," she announced crisply to the dark blond boy sitting at the receptionists' desk.

"Forty...forty-two?" He asked, taking a bit too long staring at her, and she resisted the urge to flip her strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder, to preen at the attention.

"Forty-two," she confirmed with a wide smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. It probably looked more severe than she intended, since the poor boy practically jumped in his seat, turning back to his computer and running her ID.

With a mildly shell-shocked expression, the boy—she should probably learn his name at some point, his little crush seemed harmless enough but she still felt bad that she didn't know who he was—handed her back her badge and the elevator key.

"Thank you," Lydia said, leading the way to the elevators. She had to wait a minute or two for a couple of middle-aged businessmen to come out of the elevators, and each gave her a once over that was just on the wrong side of leering for her tastes, but she merely demurred, giving them a tight smile, clutching her small purse's strap until her knuckles turned white.

She waved at the receptionist, waggling her fingers teasingly just to see his face turn a bright red as the elevator doors closed. But once they did, her face fell for the briefest of moments—she had barely made it through the lobby and she was already exhausted. Plastering her usual aloof expression on her face, she straightened her shoulders, exuding just the right amount of confidence, sophistication, and unassuming.

 _If all they see is a pretty face, they won't start to suspect there is anything in your head_ , Lydia reminded herself.

When she exited the elevator, the IMF headquarters was bustling with the usual activity. Analysts running between monitors exchanging revelations, helping each other with codes, or consulting on the newest, cutting-edge tech being developed in the basement. A quick scan saw Danny at his desk, giving her a sympathetic and confused look, but when she nodded her hello, he smiled and turned back to his work. The shades of Deaton's office were drawn, which usually meant that he was either receiving a top secret assignment or talking to the Secretary.

She put her purse down at her desk, right across from Stilinski's, and she wasn't surprised to see the desk empty. The other agent was rarely on time, and she knew that if anyone other than Deaton was in charge, he would've been reprimanded several times already.

It's not like she was paying attention, though. It's just that whenever he came rushing in, it was a whirlwind of flailing limbs and papers that spread to her own meticulously maintained workspace.

She was just taking a seat when her phone buzzed. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, there was no way Jackson could think it was a good idea to try and talk to her right now. Or at all.

Giving the device a cursory glance, fully intending on putting it on silent and then getting on with her _actual_ work, she was surprised to see it was from Stiles.

He only had her number because she had to text him once to come get Scott when she saw him still at work at one in the morning and McCall's phone had died (and for emergencies, but she had vowed never to call him if she could help it). They only talked when it had to do with work, and up until very recently, there was a better chance of Lydia leaving the house without makeup than the two of them having a conversation about anything else.

 **S:** _Meet me in the conference room ASAP. Super important :)_

Lydia didn't know if it was the smiley face at the end, but the text had her own lips curling upwards slightly before she rearranged her features to a mask of neutrality. Looking up, she saw the man in question leaning on the wall next to the hallway, one shoulder touching the wall, one foot crossed over the other, the tip of his shoe tapping against the floor. He was wearing a blue and white flannel over a white t-shirt, jeans, and Vans, so he clearly wasn't supposed to be on-duty...or he had been there for way too long.

Standing up and making her way confidently over to him, she stopped right in front of Stiles (in the back of her mind, she knew she was invading his personal space just a bit, his cologne smelling fresh and light but she shoved _that_ thought out of her head completely). "You rang, Stilinski?" She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips as his Adam's apple bobbed noticeably.

It was the worst kept secret in the headquarters, Stiles' crush on her, and while she normally would just ignore it until he realized she wasn't worth the adoration he sometimes held in his gaze and moved on, today she felt like flirting a bit. There was no harm in that, right?"

Besides...her situation might start dominating the office gossip circuit nowadays.

"Scott wanted to talk to you," he replied, his voice surprisingly steady, unlike his eyes that were darting all over her face (never straying below her chin, however) and his fingers that were tapping out an irregular beat on his crossed forearms. She couldn't help but notice the length of his fingers, and felt warmth strike in her stomach—those fidgety fingers were long enough to make a woman _very happy_ one day.

"Then why isn't _Scott_ here?" She murmured, looking up from beneath her eyelashes. "Do you really expect me to believe you didn't want to see me?"

Stiles' mouth opened and his tongue swiped at his bottom lip, and Lydia found her eyes being glued to the motion. "If that was the case I would've asked you to go get coffee," he relied, suddenly confident, his voice raspier than normal, lower too even. And she saw the distinct look of "two can play at that game" in his golden brown eyes.

But she shook her head slightly to clear her mind and took a step back, suddenly feeling like she had lost something by being the one to back down first.

"What does Scott want?" She demanded, her voice noticeably icier than before, and Stiles clearly noticed, since he straightened up as well, turning to lead her back to the conference room.

"In here," he said, opening the door for her and putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside.

She threw him a questioning look over her shoulder and his hand snapped back to his side like he was burned, his ears turning red and he scratched at the back of his neck. Realizing that it was just instinct for him, just a simple gesture of assistance from a tactile person, Lydia managed a tight grin, hoping that he understood that she was simply surprised at the contact, not repulsed.

And the small spot on her back tingled from the loss of contact—like his hand _should_ be there—as she walked into the room.

The soft sound of the door clicking shut behind her drew Lydia's attention for a brief moment, and she nodded at Stiles as he brushed past her to take a seat on the other side of the table next to Scott. Lydia noticed that the young field agent looked tired, his dark hair looking a little limp, his tan skin holding a slight pallor, and when she turned back to Stiles, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes looked slightly more pronounced than usual.

Something had been keeping the inseparable duo up all night, and Lydia wanted to know what.

"What's going on here?" She asked sternly, leveling both boys with a hard stare.

"I'll explain it in a bit, but there's a couple more agents joining us," Scott assured her, and she wished it was as easy to be annoyed with the calm, kind leader as it was to be frustrated with Stiles. It would certainly make things simpler.

Crossing her arms and sticking out her lower lip slightly in a pout, she knew she was acting a little childish, but she didn't appreciate being pulled away from her work first thing in the morning and then not finding out _why_. Tapping her pointer finger against her forearm, Lydia stared down Scott as she waited.

He had just been promoted two months ago, right after Jack... _the accident_ , but he had taken to the role like a wolf to fresh meat. She had never worked with Scott before, but she'd only heard good things from Danny, and she had certainly asked around the office for dirt on the man. He was the epitome of "too good to be true" and Lydia had learned early in her life to never trust men like that.

The door opened again, and she saw Danny enter, a tablet tucked under one arm, a questioning look on his face. He took the seat next to her, and she just shook her head as he opened his mouth to clearly ask what the hell they were doing, cutting him off. The door hadn't even shut before the new girl—Lydia thinks she had transferred from France or England—slipped in.

"I'm assuming this is everyone," she said snippily, her nose in the air and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Scott sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair before pushing a manila folder to the center of the table, but he kept his hand on it. "But before I can tell you anything about the mission...you all have to accept it. It's a dangerous, damn near impossible one, so if you don't want to take the risk, I won't blame you and you can walk out that door with no repercussions, I promise."

Lydia chewed on her fingernail, a bad habit she just couldn't shake and why she couldn't get manicures all that often, as she considered Scott's words. It wasn't like she hadn't been on dangerous missions before...this was the _Impossible Mission Force_ after all. She could take care of herself or she wouldn't have made it to twenty-five. But as shadowy and secretive as IMF could be, she had never been part of an off-the-books op, and the idea was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. After her last op, Lydia wasn't sure if she was even able to trust a team enough for a mission without a fallback, without backup...without a way out.

Sneaking glances at the four other people in the room, she realized that they were all so young, no one over twenty-seven, and yet, they were by no means inexperienced. Scott and Stiles had already accepted, Allison—though she looked slightly uncertain—had a steely determination in her gaze, and Danny was inscrutable—he could be ready to storm out or accept, she couldn't be sure.

 _Dead weight_ , the voice rang in her head, and she almost flinched. Lydia had to assume that they were in need for an undercover specialist like her if she was even sitting in the room in the first place.

"I'm in," Danny was the first to agree. Her eyes snapped over to him, a question in her eyes, but he merely shrugged. "It's not like any job is going to be easy."

Lydia smirked but without any lightness, and she turned back to the two young men across from her. Scott was glancing between the three of them, his big brown eyes soft and non-judgmental, and when they met her gaze, she knew that he wouldn't hold it against her if she turned the mission down...even if it ruined everything they had planned out already.

And when she looked at Stiles, she shouldn't be surprised, but she was, that his eyes (they almost looked golden in the light) had never moved off her. There was a shocking amount of certainty and fire in his eyes, he was begging her to agree...but not because he wanted to work an op with her, or to use it to make a move (not that she really thought he would), but because he trusted _her_. Just an actress with an above average IQ and some hand-to-hand skills. Why did they want her?

"I'll accept," Allison agreed, crossing her arms, her pretty, open face at contrast with the intimidating tactical black tank top and leggings showing off her muscles.

Scott shot her a grateful look, and Lydia wanted to roll her eyes at the way his eyes managed to soften even further, she hadn't thought that possible.

Suddenly, it wasn't just Stiles' gaze on her, but the other four were looking at her as well.

Squaring her shoulders, Lydia tossed her curls over her shoulder (she didn't miss the way a pair of golden brown eyes tracked the movement, but she didn't let herself dwell on it) and leveled Stiles with a determined look. She didn't break eye contact even as she said, "I'm in too, Scott. Now...will someone _please_ tell me what the hell is going on?"

* * *

The conference room could probably comfortably fit a dozen agents, but the air felt stifling, almost crowded, despite the fact that there were only five of them in the room. Allison was still finding her place in the IMF and she was being thrown into an unsanctioned mission to steal a diamond from one of the most well-known families on the West Coast.

"Run that by me again," Lydia Martin said, although it sounded much more like a demand if her harsh tone of voice was anything to go by.

Allison looked up from scanning the mission brief McCall had slid to the middle of the table and she bit her lip to keep from smiling—the petite redhead looked like she was ready to spit fire as she stared down the two agents on the opposite side of the table.

"Hale Diamond," Stilinski said, running a hand through already messy hair, "we steal it."

Lydia rolled her eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath, but Allison took pity on her, well, more like the rest of them because she could see the two agents gearing up for an argument. "We've all accepted the mission," Allison interjected gently, catching McCall's eye for a moment. He looked like he was giving her a grateful look, a thank you in his big brown eyes, and Allison had a feeling the bickering was nothing new. "But we could definitely use some more information."

"Or a plan," Lydia added before Allison had barely finished talking.

"Let me see that," the tech guy—Allison was pretty sure his name was Danny, but she was still putting names to faces—muttered and she slid the manila folder over, Danny having to reach around an immobile Lydia to grab it.

"There's not much there," she whispered, but it was a quiet room so the entire team (she guessed they were a team now) certainly heard.

McCall stood up and without even trying, all eyes turned to him. There was something about him—despite his honest face, crooked jaw, and puppy dog eyes—that commanded attention, the air of a natural leader she hadn't seen before. Her family business was always strictly hierarchical, whatever her mother or Gerard said goes, no matter what. It didn't quite inspire an overt sense of loyalty if one was always questioning orders, even if those orders came from someone you loved.

"Look," McCall sighed, looking more like a twenty-five year old with no clue what he was doing than a top agent ( _but_ , Allison thought absentmindedly, _that might mean he's more trustworthy than you think_ ), "Stiles and I just got the mission this morning. We've picked you all because we know we can't do it without any of you. This is going to be nearly impossible...but impossible is literally in our job title, so I know we can pull this off." He paused, turning to look at Stilinski, the two seemingly having an entire conversation without words. The lead agent looked down briefly, before glancing between each team member, meeting their eyes with a steady gaze. "There is one more thing though...it's likely, inevitable even, that...we're going to be up against Alpha Pack during this job."

Danny swore under his breath and sat back in his chair, while Lydia's eyes only widened slightly. Even in France, Allison had heard of Alpha Pack, a group of highly trained, extremely deadly mercenaries that were known for their elusiveness and deadly aim. Her father had always told her to never underestimate Alpha Pack by assuming they were just assassins, that there couldn't be more destabilizing factors that came from heists or failed coups.

If Alpha Pack wanted the Hale Diamond, it meant that there could be no room for error on their part, they had to be the ones to get to the Diamond first.

"What's the plan?" Allison asked, meeting McCall's eyes, determination strengthening her spine. If there was one thing she could do, and do well, it was protect her team, and she couldn't do that without knowing where she fit in the plan.

"We just have the basics right now," McCall started, almost sighing in relief, "we were kind of hoping Danny might be able to..."

"Hack in, see any weak points in the security," said hacker finished, pulling out his tablet and starting to tap away at a furious pace.

"Thanks," McCall said, looking at his second.

"Right," Stilinski stood up, starting to pace back and forth, "we got almost none of the regular debriefing from Deaton...apparently this mission didn't even come through the Secretary so it's _way_ suspect, but Deaton says it's a reliable source, but _how_ could he even know that?"

"Stiles!" Lydia snapped not unkindly, and that seemed to work, since Stilinski did stop pacing and looked at her incredulously.

"Rambling?" He asked innocently, almost like he had been unaware of his stream of babble.

"Rambling," McCall confirmed gently.

Stilinski nodded, and Allison looked over to Danny, wondering if all this was normal. A clearly kindhearted team leader, a hyperactive second, a reserved hacker, and an annoyed mean girl who Allison assumed was their undercover operative. They might have more of an uphill battle than she had already thought.

The technology expert was engrossed in his tablet, however, and didn't catch her look, although McCall did, and sent her a questioning glance.

Ignoring him, she ducked her head and wished she had worn her hair down today so she could hide her pinkening cheeks. She realized that she hadn't brought her bag with her, and cursed herself for her lack of foresight—she was probably going to take notes and hadn't even brought a pen.

"Here," a soft voice said, and she turned to see McCall holding out a pen.

"Thanks," Allison whispered, taking the pen, feeling the faint sensation of butterflies in her stomach as her fingers brushed McCall's as she did so. She sent him a slight grin, before turning to snag the file back from Danny.

Stilinski cleared his throat, and Allison looked up, feeling like she was back in high school, being caught not paying attention in class. She sent the dark-haired second an apologetic look, but as she turned back towards the file, she saw Lydia looking at her with a curious expression on her face. Allison raised an eyebrow, but the redhead turned back to Stilinski, a blankness settling over her eyes and Allison looked back at the file.

There really wasn't a whole lot of information there, just a printout of the history of the Hale Diamond and some details on the Hale's family business.

"We don't actually know where the Diamond is being kept," Stilinski started, "so step one of recon is to find out where they're keeping it, which is why we need Danny to hack into Hale Corps' servers. There was to be some kind of information on their hotels..."

"And if we have that info, we should be able to tell where the vault might be," Lydia finished, looking deep in thought. "There's no way they would keep it anywhere off property."

"Why's that?" Allison asked, chewing absentmindedly on the end of the pen.

"Hales don't trust anyone but themselves," the other woman replied matter-of-factly. "Especially not with an heirloom like their Diamond."

Nodding enthusiastically, Stilinski gestured towards Danny, "So, D-Man, do you have anything for us yet?"

"I thought I told you never to call me that," Danny deadpanned, but grimaced as he looked up from the tablet. "Okay, bad news."

"Already?" Stilinski moaned, and even McCall looked dejected.

(Allison thought that the look of defeat and frustration shouldn't ever be on McCall's youthful, handsome face.)

Danny nodded, "I can't get into the Hale servers remotely." A collective groan filled the room, Stilinski actually putting his head in his hands, Lydia rolling her eyes at his dramatics.

"So, step one, no, not even step one, step _negative one_ , is to get into the Hale servers," Stilinski said.

"I can do that from any computer in the Hale hotel chain," Danny explained, "it shouldn't take more than five minutes to plant the bug that can let me in."

"Done, although I could definitely get you more than just access," Lydia announced, and when the other four turned to look at her, she shrugged confidently.

Allison looked down at the file once again, scribbling out a couple notes next to the pictures of Alpha Pack, wondering how they were going to possibly pull this off.

* * *

Danny had been working for IMF for almost six years now, and had run countless missions with Scott and Stiles, so he was aware of their improvisational tactics that rivaled the infamous Ethan Hunt, how their plans were often half-drawn up before they set out on the assignment.

But this was a level of unknowable variables and danger that was pushing it even for the duo.

Sending in Lydia, by herself, to the Hale Hotel, with minimal backup (just Stilinski and Danny himself in the car two blocks away), just two months after her accident, didn't seem like the best idea. But without the Hale servers, the mission was dead before it even started.

"Tell me why you couldn't just get to the servers from HQ," Stiles asked for the fifth time in as many minutes. "You're the best hacker in the entire IMF."

Danny held back a sigh of frustration, giving his tablet a death stare, waiting for the alert that Lydia had planted the USB with the virus, opening a connection between his network and the Hale servers. He had a bet going with Mason when Stiles and Lydia were going to get together, and he didn't want to strangle Stiles before he could win.

"Like I've said," Danny stressed, rolling his eyes, "the Hale are as paranoid as they come. I'm talking firewalls upon firewalls and scrambled code. It would take me days, maybe weeks to get through, and by then, they probably would have re-scrambled the firewalls and I'd have to do it all over again. And we definitely don't have that much time to waste."

"Mhm," Stiles muttered, chewing on his thumbnail as he stared out the window in the direction of the hotel.

He rolled his eyes again at the other agent's obvious concern. "You know Lydia can handle herself, right? I mean, she could probably do this in her sleep."

"Mhm," he repeated, but Danny knew he was barely paying attention.

He was really going to have to pull it together or else they were going to run into some issues whenever they actually had to steal the Diamond. Between Stiles' bicker-flirting with Lydia, and Scott and Allison's obvious attraction towards each other, Danny would be surprised if they made it out of this mission _without_ any hookups and/or feelings-related incidents.

"Look," Danny sighed, not wanting to break the silence but everyone was going to need a clear head in the days to come and Stiles was the only one here for him to knock some sense into (and probably the one who needed it the most), "Alpha Pack is coming after this thing too, which means if everyone doesn't do their job perfectly, whatever that job may be...it's gonna' fail."

"Who gave you the pessimist pills this morning?" Stiles grumbled, but at Danny's sharp glare, the other man just slumped in his seat. "You know I was there, right? When her accident happened."

His head snapped up, trying to catch Stiles' eye but he was just staring straight ahead, his entire body radiating tension. This was new to him. Jackson had always told him that Lydia and himself were the only ones on the mission that night, but if Stiles was there, why wouldn't _either_ of them tell Deaton? Both of them had been vague about the details, but it was a poorly kept secret that Jackson and Lydia had been sleeping together, but after the accident, she had asked for a transfer, Scott had been promoted to the lead agent for their branch of the IMF, and Jackson hadn't been seen since.

"What the hell do you mean, _you were there_?" Danny demanded. Lydia was like his sister, and if Stiles had information that he had been keeping secret, there were very few good reasons for that.

"I was there," Stiles repeated, his voice flat. "So, I know she's capable, but I also know that she's human...we all are, so we can get hurt on these things."

It wasn't exactly the answers he was looking for, but from the tenseness in his jaw and the concern in his eyes, Danny knew the other agent wasn't the cause of Lydia's accident. It was the look of a man haunted.

That look was pretty familiar to anyone who worked at IMF for more than a day. Even more so after a mission went wrong.

A beep on his tablet drew Danny's attention, and he couldn't help the grin that spread over his face as he saw the connection for the Hale network appear. "She did it," he breathed in relief, starting the decryption process on the first firewall code.

"Of course she did," Stiles muttered, but Danny didn't have to look to know that the other agent was probably smiling brightly, his tone light despite the fact there were still several more steps to go before they were in the clear.

He kept his eyes on the code as Stiles started up the car, driving them to the rendezvous point where they were going to meet Lydia. The rhythmic tapping drew his attention, and of course Stiles was drumming on the steering wheel as they parked in an unmarked spot in the garage a few blocks from the hotel.

Scanning the outside perimeter, Danny spotted a woman with red-gold hair in a tight black dress making her way towards the car, striding purposefully but not like she was in a hurry. He nudged Stiles in the ribs, subtly nodding behind him, and couldn't help smiling when Stiles practically _beamed_ when he caught sight of her in the rearview mirror.

God he was _so_ winning that bet with Mason it wasn't even fair.

"See, she's fine...no issues," Danny muttered with a sly smirk.

"Always knew she would be," Stiles replied, and if Danny hadn't been privy to his concern not even twenty minutes ago, he might even believe that.

The door opened, and the two young men watched Lydia slide into the backseat from the rearview mirror. "Did you get in?" She asked innocently, pulling her curls up into a ponytail and kicking off her red heels.

Stiles looked fairly incapable of speech at the moment, his jaw slack as he watched their teammate in the mirror, so Danny rolled his eyes and replied, "Yeah, I'm running decryption now. We should be into the server in the next twenty-four hours, although I have to monitor the program until then."

"I'm sure Stiles can help with that," Lydia assured him. "He already doesn't sleep and he's the next best person to deal with any issues that could arise."

"Third best," Stiles quipped.

Danny shot the agent a confused look—Stiles was the only one Danny knew about who was as good with all the tech components as Danny himself, so what was he talking about?

"Second," Lydia snapped in a tone that clearly left no room for argument.

The car was silent for a moment as Danny refocused on the decryption, and uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. They had to steal a diamond, likely under heavy guard, and the fucking Alpha Pack and all that entailed was coming after them.

"Why do I have the feeling that this was the only part of this job that is going to be easy?" Danny muttered to himself, but he knew that the other two were thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

Twenty-six hours after Danny, Stiles, and Lydia returned from their assignment, twenty-two hours after the decryption process finally finished (the Hales _were_ paranoid), and twenty hours after Danny had full access to the Hale Servers, Scott's team was assembled in the conference room, Deaton letting them use it off the record.

Scott was staring at the mess of blueprints, personnel information, electrical readouts, and Stiles' half-legible notes on strategy. His aforementioned second and best friend was currently passed out half on top of the table, Lydia nudging his side with a bare foot, having kicked off her heels hours earlier, as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger, studying a printout of emails. Their newest recruit, Allison Argent, was looking at the two curiously, but Scott merely tapped her on the back of her hand.

"They're always like this," he whispered, not wanting to alert either agent that they were being discussed.

"How long have they been together?" She asked just as quietly, and if Scott had been drinking water, he would've spit it out. As it was, he nearly choked on his spit.

"Uh, no, they're not dating," Scott replied, wondering if he should get into his friend's complicated history with the redhead ( _strawberry blonde_ , a voice in the back of his mind that sounded incredibly like Stiles, reminded him).

"Oh, is that something that's...not allowed?" Allison wondered, and when Scott met her eyes, there was a faint pinkening in her cheeks.

He couldn't help his own blush as he thought about the implications—did that mean she wanted to date someone in the agency? From the second Allison Argent had stepped through the elevator doors to IMF, Scott had been smitten. Her record with the Argents was filled with competence and a glowing recommendation from her father, and obviously she was gorgeous and tough. There was no other person he'd want to be the "muscle" on his team for this mission.

"No," he coughed, "there's no rule against intra-agency relationships, but...those two...they've _never_ been an item."

"Oh, okay," Allison nodded, but her dark brows furrowed, making a crease in her perfect pale forehead. She turned back to the papers in front of her, but glanced back at him with a soft smile on her face.

"I think I have something," Lydia announced, drawing Scott's attention, Danny looking up from his laptop. She glanced at the boy next to her, rolling her eyes and kicking him a little more solidly.

Stiles shot upwards, papers sticking to his cheek. "Hm. What? What happened? Who's dead?"

Scott smirked as Lydia rolled her eyes, obviously hiding a fondness for the man. He met Allison's eyes, the two exchanging a, _I can't believe these two_ look.

"What'd you find?" Scott asked before Stiles could retort.

Lydia turned to the lead agent, her face turning serious as she spread out the emails and a couple other documents in the middle of the table—they looked mainly like news articles dating back nearly eighty years and transfer papers from the Hales' hotel in downtown LA.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Allison chimed in, tucking a dark curl behind her ear as she studied the papers.

"As far as I can tell, the Hale Diamond has only been seen in public three times in the past seventy years," Lydia explained. "When Morgan Hale came of age in 1952, Talia's Hale's debut in New York society in 1977, and Laura Hale's twenty-first birthday in 2005."

"Okay," Scott drew out the word, not quite seeing the connection. "How does this help us?"

"Because Cora Hale is turning twenty-one this week," Lydia started.

"And she's going to wear the Hale Diamond," Stiles finished. She turned to look at him, he had moved to stand closer to Lydia, staring over her shoulder at the papers, but neither seemed to notice the closeness. "That's really smart, Lydia," his tone could not be more admiring if he tried.

"Which means, we just have to get an invite to that party," Allison smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks that Scott didn't want to look away from.

"That should be easy enough," Danny replied, already tapping furiously on his laptop, no doubt securing them invites. "What's harder is we're going to need to get past however many bodyguards Cora's going to be surrounded by, not to mention countless security cameras..."

"Not to mention, getting to it before Alpha Pack," Stiles muttered darkly.

"When is the party?" Scott asked, the beginnings of a plan starting to form in his mind.

"Uh, three days from now," Danny answered, the entire room falling quiet, tension obvious in the air.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Stiles cursed, slumping back in his chair, and Scott couldn't help but agree with the sentiment.

Their timeline had just gotten a whole lot shorter.

So it shouldn't have been surprising when he found himself sitting on a bench with Allison outside the Hale Corporation's main office building not even twelve hours later, holding a cup of coffee and trying to look like he was just a normal twenty-five year old guy on a date.

Both of them managed to look the part, Scott in a pair of dark wash jeans, a hunter green Henley, and boots. And Allison looking effortlessly pretty in skinny jeans, a chunky knit cream-colored sweater and her black leather jacket and heeled boots. They had stopped by a coffee shop four blocks away, slowly making their way to the Hale building...just another couple in their mid-twenties on an early coffee date.

"Two more armed men just entered the building," Allison said casually, taking a sip from her coffee. "You weren't kidding about the Hales being paranoid. That's the third pair we've seen in an hour."

"But no Boyd, Reyes, or Lahey yet?" He asked, hoping to confirm what he already knew—that Cora Hale either wasn't taking a large role in her family's company...or they just got really unlucky and she wasn't in the office today. They had pictures of her three main bodyguards, but grainy security footage was no match for a positive ID in the field.

"Not that I can tell," she murmured before laughing lightly, just like a girl would if he had told a joke on a date. Reaching out a hand, she brushed some hair out of his face, and Scott froze at the action, his skin tingling faintly at the contact. "Don't look now," she said under her breath, her pale pink lips barely moving as she spoke through a small smile (she could give Lydia a run for her money in the undercover department), "but I think someone else might have the same idea as us."

Furrowing his brows briefly before plastering on a fake smile—although it wasn't too fake since he felt lighter than air with Allison this close...almost like he could pretend they were on a real date instead of a stakeout—he glanced over his shoulder. Acting like he was merely people-watching, taking a sip of his coffee, Scott glanced around, trying to discern who she was talking about.

It didn't take him long, the cane and dark sunglasses despite it being an overcast day were a dead giveaway.

"Deucalion," Scott hissed. There was no way the head of Alpha Pack just _happened_ to be outside the Hale building two days before Cora Hale's twenty-first birthday, and despite the fact that Deucalion was blind, he always had the uncanny ability to spot IMF agents. Stiles had a running theory that Deucalion was just pretending to be blind, so that he was underestimated by his enemies, but Scott never really bought it until now.

Deucalion's head was turning and tilting as if he was listening to the crowd...or scanning for rival agents.

"Quick, kiss me," Scott murmured, feeling his cheeks burn at the words, but Deucalion was going to be passing them any second and he couldn't make them.

"What?" Allison blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at him confusedly.

"He can't spot me, or we're made and it's going to be even harder to get to Cora Hale before them," he explained, talking furiously and under his breath. His eyes searched her face, finding apprehension there, but Scott got the feeling that it wasn't from an aversion to the idea, but from shock of the suddenness of his request.

(Or at least that was what he hoped he was seeing.)

Her eyes dropped to his lips, and her hand hadn't moved from his hair and she turned his head slightly, so his back was to the street. However, the movement brought him closer to her, barely an inch of space separating their torsos. Her breath fanned over his cheeks, and Scott couldn't help the way his gaze went to her own lips, wondering what it would be like if they _were_ just a normal couple out on a date. If he could lean in and kiss her, and it not have to be because he was going to be recognized by a maybe-blind leader of a terrorist group.

"I think he's gone," she whispered, almost breathily, her chest heaving despite the fact that they actually _hadn't_ kissed. The way Allison had positioned them, to the outside observer, it would have looked like they were wrapped up in each other, her hand combing through his hair, his own free arm had wrapped around her waist almost instinctively.

"Oh...good," he said, his own voice low and rough. Moving to lean back, Scott mourned the loss of closeness, but took a sip from his coffee to try and cover up his rapidly reddening face.

Allison gave him a soft smile, settling back against the bench, but the hand she removed from his hair grabbed his own free hand, pulling it across his body to rest in her lap. "To keep up appearances," she explained, her lips curving upwards in a way that made him wish it wasn't just for the mission.

"It doesn't have to be," he found himself saying, before he could think better of it. But as she beamed, squeezing his hand tighter and settling against his side a bit closer than she had been before, Scott smiled as well, running a thumb over her knuckles and going back to watching the Hale building.

* * *

"Will you _please_ relax?" Lydia snapped. "We're not even out of the car yet."

"Just tell me again why Scott couldn't do this?" He asked nervously, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, trying _very_ hard not to look over at Lydia, sure that if he did she would see how anxious he really was (which was somehow _more_ than the normal aura of anxiety he generally exuded). He was also _definitely_ not looking at the ring she was twisting around her finger, the only sign that maybe she was less than calm.

"Because Scott was potentially already spotted by Alpha Pack. Besides, you're the one who _volunteered_!" Lydia shook her head, most of her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up in a braided crown around her head, but the few strands that framed her face bounced with the movement.

"Right," he sighed. But when he had volunteered for the recon, he hadn't known it would entail... _this_. He just thought he was going to wait in the car again, backup in case she needed it.

She huffed out a breath, turning to look at him, her face was serious, almost expressionless, but there was a warmth in her green eyes as she studied his face in a way that made him want to squirm in his seat (but not in a bad way). "It makes more sense if there's two of us...more eyes, more information. Besides, if you _weren't_ here, there would just be more questions and we don't want them to remember us." She paused, and he turned to look at her. Chewing on her bottom lip, she had looked at her hands, but straightened up as she seemed to feel Stiles' gaze on her, that mask he had seen her wear too often (especially after her accident) back in place. "And you're the only one who I...you're the best option."

"Wow, way to make a guy feel wanted," he replied snarkily, but he knew he was staring at her with too much softness for her to think he was actually annoyed.

Lydia rolled her eyes, but with a slight grin that managed to crack her mask. He wanted to think she wanted him here, but he knew that _she knew_ Stiles was probably the best option to (not really) feign adoration.

They had been spending night after late night pouring over research about Alpha Pack's movements, trying to absorb as much information as they could in the terrifyingly short time frame they had until Cora Hale's party. And there was a certain camaraderie that came with seeing another person drooling over a stack of tactical readouts of terrorists or with an imprint of a laptop keyboard on their cheek.

Of course, Stiles couldn't help but burn the memories of Lydia's face in the morning—eyes bleary, smile a little unsure, voice a little raspy—into his mind, along with the way she could barely function without green tea, and how coffee was for last resorts only. How she would nudge him in the ribs when she figured out a part of the plan, how her eyes would light up, because she forgot that (for some reason) she was trying to hide how smart she was. How she looked wearing one of his zip-up hoodies over her skirt and blouse because she got cold at one in the morning and didn't have a jacket at the office.

(That last one had certainly created some lingering dreams that made him want to ask if she had taken that sweatshirt because he couldn't find it.)

(And to give it to her if she hadn't.)

 _This is why pretending to be her fiancé is a horrible idea_ , he reminded himself, running a hand through his hair.

"I trust you on this," she whispered, so quietly he wasn't sure he even heard her correctly.

Nodding, Stiles got out of the car, dashing over to the passenger side and opening the door for her. Might as well start getting into character.

Lydia got out of the car, and he didn't have to feign the look that came over him as he saw her smiling up at him, looking from underneath darkened eyelashes, lips glossy as they curved into a smirk. In her short, ruffled floral dress, suede ankle boots, and her hair braided the way it was, she looked exactly like the kind of young, well-off, newly engaged bride who should be looking at the Hale Hotel for her wedding. Stiles, on the other hand, wearing just a flannel and some jeans (he really wasn't expecting _this_ to be the mission) looked like the dope who lucked into being the one to marry her.

Maybe not too far off from their actual situation.

Grabbing her hand, almost without a second thought, as they started walking towards the hotel, and with each step, Stiles felt himself relaxing. This was just a regular mission, and it wasn't like he hadn't ever been undercover before, plus he trusted Lydia. She was the best undercover agent in the IMF, she could talk her way into the VIP section of any club or restaurant or really any high-end establishment, and she had. Multiple times.

Even if he fucked up (which was getting rarer with every mission he ran), if he felt his control slipping even minutely, he trusted her to talk them out of it...to pull him back. Even if she had only just now started acknowledging his existence outside of missions.

Entering the lobby, he put his free hand on the small of her back as they walked through the double doors—in the back of his mind, he knew he was going to take every chance he had to touch her...to remind her of his love, his protection, even if she didn't want either one.

The Hale Hotel was for the wealthy and powerful, rooms going for thousands of dollars a night, and the Hale family was the closest thing America had to royalty since the Kennedys...and Stiles was standing in the opulent lobby in Adidas sneakers at least three years old and a flannel that definitely had some holes at the bottom. At least Lydia's ring spoke to the money they _should_ have if they were considering this as a venue for their (fake) wedding.

Lydia marched right up to the receptionist's desk, almost dragging him along, a bright smile on her face—everything about the picture _screamed_ eager young bride and lovesick but hapless fiancé.

"Hi," she greeted brightly, "my fiancé..." she paused to giggle, looking up at him with a warm expression that did things to his stomach that made him remind himself that she was just pretending, "my _fiancé_ and I were hoping to rent the ballroom for our reception. We've heard _such_ good things about it from our friends, you do still rent it out, right?"

The receptionist, a harried-looking woman in her mid-thirties, looked at Lydia a bit warily, but thankfully not in a " _I suspect you of being a spy_ " wariness, but a " _this zealous young bride just threw a lot of information at me that I, a likely underpaid front desk worker, am not totally qualified to answer_ " way. Glancing from Lydia to Stiles, a bit of distaste curling her lip, before her eyes landed on the sizable diamond ring Lydia was waving around a bit ostentatiously.

"Let me get the manager for you two," she said, a tight grin on her face.

"Thank you so much!" Lydia exclaimed, tightening her grip on Stiles' hand, wrapping her other hand around that same forearm as she dragged him towards one of the leather couches that were scattered throughout the lobby.

As they made their way through the lobby, Stiles glanced around, noting the security cameras that were hidden in the light fixtures and marking the unmarked door behind the receptionist's desk that led to the back hallways of the hotel. And based on the schematics of the hotel, the security center was just off that back hallway. And if they were really lucky (and they generally weren't) the manager had a keycard to the door he could manage to swipe.

Danny had asked for as much access to the hotel's security system as they could get him in order to cut down on how much hacking he was going to need to do on the day.

He also had one eye out for anyone who looked like they were part of Alpha Pack, having memorized all the current active members the IMF knew about, but one could never be too sure that they would come themselves to case the place. After Scott and Allison had seen Deucalion outside the Hale Corporation's main offices, they weren't taking any chances. All recon teams went out in pairs, and they had to be extra careful not to be spotted.

"Smile," Lydia demanded through her own gritted-teeth smile, her eyes darting around, but the adoring look never left her face. "You're _engaged_ , remember?"

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—like that wasn't the only thing going through his mind since he found out that was part of the mission—but pulled their clasped hands onto his lap, drawing her closer until she was pressed against his side. Ignoring the way his heart was thumping nearly out of his chest, he gave her a small smile, knowing (hoping) she could see the affection pouring out of his eyes.

Playing with her fingers, Stiles leaned in, acting like a young man flirting with his fiancée, but keeping an eye out for the manager. "There are cameras covering every inch of this lobby, there's no way we're going to be able to sneak Danny in this way."

She let out a low chuckle, but loud enough that it shocked him a bit as he pulled back. "Just leave it to me, honey," Lydia replied, kissing the corner of his mouth before standing up, the coy expression disappearing underneath the bubbly, newly engaged persona. "Hello, you must be the manager. My fiancé and I were told you could give us more information about renting the ballroom for our wedding."

A little dumbstruck, the spot where Lydia had kissed him feeling like it was on fire, it took Stiles a second to realize that the hotel manager had arrived, a tall, thin man with a receding hairline who, just like the receptionist, turned his nose up at the sight of Stiles.

"Yes, I'm Thomas, I manage the hotel," he introduced himself, a faint English accent making his voice sound even more elitist. "Before I show you the ballroom, I must inform you that we charge a premium rate here, we don't want anyone getting their hopes up. It's standard procedure after all."

"Oh, we're very comfortable," Lydia replied with a tight smile, her eyes a little more cold than before, but for the life of him, Stiles couldn't figure out why. "Now, the ballroom, please?"

Thomas nodded stiffly, turning to Stiles and giving him a once over. "And this is your... _fiancé_ is it?"

"Yes," she snapped, all warmth gone, but she turned back to Stiles, raising an eyebrow to motion for him to stand. "Stuart, babe, are you ready?"

 _Great, even random, snobby hotel managers don't think I can get Lydia_ , he thought, standing up and bumping into the man, a muttered "sorry" crossing his lips before he took Lydia's hand again, starting to move towards the ballroom. He sent her a small grin as they moved in front of the manager, his eyes full (of affection, awe, surprise, he wasn't sure). It felt nice to have her defend him, even if she was just defending her fake fiancé to a rich asshole.

Tossing her head with a small _hmph_ , she tucked herself into his side, using the hand she was holding to put his arm around her shoulders. Stiles definitely wasn't focusing on how she seemed to fit perfectly against him, all of her softness slotting against his lanky angles.

The hotel manager caught up, starting to chat Lydia's ear off about the ballroom, all the amenities that the hotel offered, premiums for guests and catering opportunities.

"Catering?" She inquired, that slight curious edge to her voice that only one who was paying attention knew meant she had found a lead or figured a problem out. "Is there an in-house kitchen that is equipped to handle a couple hundred people? Discretion is key for us, we don't really want waiters in all of our wedding photos after all."

"I assure you that the Hale Hotel chain prides itself on customer satisfaction," Thomas replied, puffing his chest out. "There are several staff corridors that run alongside the ballroom and throughout the hotel. If you wished, you would never see a soul that was not a guest."

And there it was. A man like Thomas was proud to be managing such a prestigious hotel, he couldn't help bragging about it to ensnare a potential customer.

With a grin, he didn't stop himself from pressing a kiss to the side of her head. This is why Lydia is one of the best at her job.

She squeezed his hand in response, but continued her conversation with Thomas without missing a beat. They made it to the ballroom, and Stiles stopped in his tracks at the sight of the space.

"Holy shit," he blurted out, smirking when Lydia elbowed him in the side and pursed her lips.

The ballroom was enormous, it could easily fit five hundred people, and although it was empty at the moment, he could see tables being set up and red drapes falling from the ceiling that meant they were setting up for Cora Hale's party. The floor was tiled in bronze and gold tones, a huge triple spiral pattern made out of the tiles almost like a mosaic, marble pillars stood at the edges of the round room, presumably to support the high domed ceiling. Stiles felt like he was standing in a church instead of a hotel ballroom.

"The Hale family spares no expense," Thomas bragged.

"It certainly does not," Stiles retorted, still a bit in awe, but his mind was already cataloguing the edges of the room, the dark corners, the exits, the placement of the tall windows, from what angles anyone in the room could be seen _through_ said windows.

Lydia went through the motions of playing the bubbly bride-to-be for the next twenty minutes, only needing Stiles to chime in every so often with an opinion he made up on the spot (like he really would care if they had circular tables or rectangular ones).

At one point, Stiles excused himself to "use the restroom," but he really just picked the lock on one of the doors leading to the staff hallways, one that was just off the ballroom, taking care to avoid the cameras. He didn't have a whole lot of time to look around, but he quickly plotted out the route to the security room. Cursing under his breath, he noticed the electronic lock on the door. He had to turn back, but that might have been a good thing, since it would definitely be a red flag on the servers if Thomas was in two places at once.

By the time they were being escorted out of the hotel, Lydia leaving a fake phone number with the hotel manager, and taking Thomas' card with a false promise to call him shortly to reserve the ballroom, he was actually regretting having to go back to his normal life. The life where Lydia and himself were nothing more than friends by circumstance, but probably closer to colleagues than anything else, and he didn't get to run his fingers absentmindedly over her arm, feeling an almost certainly involuntary shiver run through her.

Keeping ahold of her hand, Stiles didn't say anything until they reached the car, him pulling her door open for her once again.

She gave him a grateful look as she slid in, and he went around to his own side, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Knowing himself, it would take the entire car ride back to IMF for that to happen.

A comfortable silence settled over the car's interior, making Stiles wish he could bring his Jeep on missions, but it was definitely too recognizable. But, there was a part of him that would risk it if it meant seeing Lydia on the passenger side looking just as relaxed as she did now, her hand holding her head, her elbow resting on the window, a serene expression on her face.

"You can get Danny in through the staff hallways," she started in a far-off voice, almost like she was talking to herself, "but there's no way the security room doesn't have it's own locking mechanism. Did you manage to get that far?"

"I did," he replied, "and it's a good thing we have this then." With a smirk, he held up Thomas' master keycard, Lydia's eyes snapping to it, a small grin turning up her lips.

"It certainly is," she grinned, setting her head back on the headrest, a warmth settling in Stiles' chest as he chanced a glance over at her.

Maybe they had a chance of pulling this off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I can't resist a fake dating/engaged dynamic for Stydia and Scallison! Besides, it's an undercover fic, what good is that if you don't get some sweet sweet fake dating in there??!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. This is closer to the chapter length that the rest of the fic is going to be, along with the multiple POV style.
> 
> If you're so inclined, please leave a comment or kudos! They really help encourage my decision to post this instead of working on NaNoWriMo planning/writing!!
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	3. Chapter Two: Execute the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of Cora Hale's twenty-first birthday is here. The heist starts, the team gets all dressed up, some people dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So the heist is here, and so this is where things start to get going.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and gave kudos on the first two chapters, I had no idea if anyone was still in the Teen Wolf fandom or if they'd be interested in this fic, so the response has been really encouraging.
> 
> So, since this is a fancy party (because every good heist/Mission Impossible movie has an event where everyone needs to get dressed up), I took a lot of inspiration from the dresses that Mission Impossible/spy movie leading ladies have worn in the past just in different colors.
> 
> Allison's outfit is based on Vanessa Kirby's outfit from Fallout ([Allison](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/9b/52/1d9b520879890e93851757858ee28a36.jpg))
> 
> Cora's dress is based on Ana de Armas' dress from the upcoming Bond movie ([Cora](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7c/b5/38/7cb538624b23669f70924023143e8a21.jpg))
> 
> And Lydia's is my absolute favorite MI dress, Paula Patton's from Ghost Protocol ([Lydia](https://157630.smushcdn.com/89221/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Paula-Patton-in-Mission-Impossible-Ghost-Protocol-e1334689968941.jpg?lossy=0&strip=1&webp=1))
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf, Mission Impossible, or the quote from the Flash I used for a title.
> 
> Enjoy!

Danny fiddled with his bowtie, glancing sidelong at Stiles as the latter was crouched down, picking the lock to the back gate of the Hale Hotel. The night of Cora Hale's twenty-first birthday party was here, and he felt the faint uneasiness in his gut that always came with the start of a new mission. It made his fingers itch for his tablet...or really any keyboard. At least, then he knew he would be able to be of use to his team.

With a faint _click_ , the gate swung open, and Stiles jumped up, his normally cocky and/or nervous expression was replaced with a deadly serious one. "Let's go," he muttered, leading the way into the staff parking lot of the hotel.

Taking a deep breath, Danny squared his shoulders and followed Stiles, relatching the gate when they were through. Cars were parked in orderly rows, and catering trucks were parked in front of the entrance, obscuring their arrival. The two agents made their way casually through the lot, in their black dress pants, white button-ups, and black ties, they blended in with the staff working the party.

And since the party was getting into swing—although the Hales likely wouldn't be arriving for a couple hours—the back kitchen and the hidden staff corridors were a madhouse, making it easy for the two agents to be lost in the fray. Stiles led the way, glancing around like his head was on a permanent swivel, looking just like any other frantic waiter searching for their manager. Danny kept a tight grip on his tablet...well, the clipboard with a few pieces of IMF's high-tech intelli-paper that doubled as a tablet.

He really wanted to ask if Stiles knew where he was going, but after reading countless mission reports from both Scott and Stiles, he knew it was going to be pointless. The latter apparently always managed to memorize the architecture and layout of wherever he was going to be, and so had likely done the same with the blueprints of the hotel in the _three days_ they'd had to prep.

That didn't stop the nerves from crawling up Danny's spine, his cool façade disappearing when he was put in the field, and not just in a backup, "guy in the van," capacity.

This was only going to be his third field mission, and he was actively required to be on his guard and/or ready to fight Alpha Pack if and when they arrived. And that wasn't even counting the many reasons _that_ inevitable confrontation could go wrong...and knowing the IMF's luck (and it was the luck of an agency that had been shut down, investigated multiple times, and had even needed to enact Ghost Protocol once nine years ago) it probably would.

But, they managed to make it to the security room without any trouble, and with the modified master key—Danny had taken the keycard and uploaded his own profile as an employee for the security team (low enough that he wasn't supposed to be known by the higher-ups, but high enough that he should have access to the control room) they should be able to get in fine. The manager Stiles had managed to swipe the key off of likely wouldn't think twice, assume he misplaced it, and have his profile transferred to a new card.

No red flags raised, Stiles and Lydia's covers intact, and Danny had access to the control room.

Now they just had to make sure whomever was on-duty wouldn't raise the alarm.

As Stiles stepped aside, Danny swiped the keycard, the small light on the side of the electronic reader turning from red to green instantly. He couldn't help but feel a brief swell of pride alleviating his nerves, his coding skills were still impeccable, so here's hoping his passing field assessment score wasn't a fluke.

Opening the door, Danny spotted a middle-aged security guard watching the wall of screens in the middle of the room. Taking a deep breath, he stepped just a foot through the door. "Hey, man, I'm supposed to be finding Lahey...something about Cora Hale's security team for the night."

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" The guard said, looking up, his scowl deepening as he caught sight of Danny and his waiter's uniform. "How did you get in here?"

"I just need you to point me in the right direction," he pleaded, trying not to glance at Stiles lurking just out of view, hidden by the open door.

With a sigh—they really lucked out with this guy being willing to help them—the guard got up, walking over to where Danny was standing. "Show me where you need to go," he grumbled, bending his head to look at Danny's clipboard, but he slumped forward suddenly. Danny had to twist out of the way, suddenly thankful for his years playing lacrosse in high school, having apparently gained some good reflexes from them.

Looking up, he saw Stiles retracting a pen that doubled as a syringe from the guard's neck, a composed look on his face. "Help me with this guy," Stiles muttered, shutting the door to the control room, shoving a spare chair over to jam the handle. It wouldn't buy them that much time, but it might do in a pinch.

After they dragged the guard behind the desk, Danny sat down in the swivel chair behind the wall of monitors, his breath rushing out of his lungs in a relieved exhale. This he could do. This he was comfortable with.

The cameras were obviously already on, and it only took a few keystrokes to transfer the streams of the ballroom's multiple cameras, the main entrance, and the hallway leading to the girls' room to his tablet. He checked the intelli-paper quickly, eyes jumping between the clipboard to the monitors to check that the streams were live.

"You in? You didn't say if you were in or not," Stiles said, his tone a little more on edge than his stoic demeanor would imply, and when Danny looked up, the other agent was standing over his shoulder, eyes searching the monitors.

Danny didn't need five guesses as to what, or rather who, he was looking for.

"You know I've never once said the words, 'I'm in,'" Danny sighed, and a quick scan of his own showed that none of their team had entered the party yet.

"Yeah, but how cool would it be if you did?" Stiles replied, the faintest hint of a grin on his face. "And you'll let me, let _us_ , know when...they arrive?"

Rolling his eyes, because the other man wasn't that subtle, "Yes, I'll let you know when Lydia gets here. You can trust me to do my job, Stilinski."

"I do trust you," the other agent said without hesitation, and frankly, that was more than Danny had been expecting. Trust was a hard thing to come by in their line of work, but hearing Stiles—a young man who had been on more ops than anyone else their age, minus Scott, and had seen and done things that he probably wishes he hadn't—say that he trusted him with the location of the woman he loved...it was a lot to handle for a tech expert that had hardly been in the field before. And had certainly never been on an assignment of this nature before.

"So I will handle this, let you know when the rest make their entrance, and whatever surprises Alpha Pack is going to throw at us...we'll know about it," Danny assured him, catching Stiles' eye and nodding. "Go. We all have our parts to play."

Stiles nodded, his eyes serious once again as he left the control room, Danny springing up to replace the doorjamb, stepping gingerly over the passed out security guard as he did so.

As he settled back in his chair, watching as more guests and waiters started filling up the ballroom, Danny took a deep breath...he could do this. _They_ could do this.

* * *

Allison looked at herself in the mirror, surprised that _this_ was what she ended up wearing for her first mission with IMF. When she worked for her family, black tactical gear was the standard, the Argents preferring to do their work directly and as straightforward as possible. Gerard always said that undercover work was only for underhanded cowards who couldn't face their enemy head-on and win.

Wanting to push any memory of her grandfather from her mind, she leaned closer to the vanity mirror, touching up her pale pink lipstick unnecessarily. The two women had checked into the Hale Hotel earlier that day, under the guise of being out of town friends of Cora Hale. Thankfully, many of her guests were staying at the hotel for the night, so they wouldn't raise alarms if they only stayed for one night.

When she finished, she straightened up, studying her reflection. Her dark hair was curled but pulled up into an elegant twist, secured by two chopstick-like sticks that doubled as very thin blades. And Lydia had done her makeup, so she looked like she was practically glowing, her skin shimmering with highlighter and her dark eyes looked impossibly big with the dark brown eyeliner and bronze eyeshadow. Her and Lydia had gone "shopping" in the IMF's undercover section, Lydia looking ridiculously happy as they picked through gown after gown, before settling on the outfits they were wearing.

Allison had chosen a high-waisted, dark purple, almost plum-colored, skirt that swished around her ankles, a hidden slit on her right side, paired with a matching halter top with a high neck that appeared like it crossed at her collarbone, and was clasped at her neck and ribcage, exposing her entire back. She was glad, for once, that her aunt had taught her how to fight in heels when she was fourteen years old, because the black stilettos added at least four inches to her height and she needed to play the generous socialite, and probably also go up against a terrorist-mercenary group. In addition, there were about four different knives hidden on her person but from her appearance, none would be the wiser.

Lydia was still in the bathroom, presumably primping because while Allison did have to fit the profile of a contemporary of Cora Hale, _Lydia_ had to entice one of the Alpha Pack members, so much so he told her their plan.

In the back of her mind, Allison was glad that she was pretty much glorified backup. There was no way she would be able to pull off the near-impossible feat the other woman was going to attempt, but Allison was good at protecting others, and she would die before she let anything happen to any of them.

Lydia emerged from the bathroom, her hair curled artfully around her shoulders and pulled to one side. She looked stunning and it was then that Allison believed the stories she had heard from Scott about the undercover agent who was smart, capable, and beautiful and had taken down men with just a look. If she could get back in the field after her accident, presumably doing what it was that led to said accident (she made a note to ask the woman what had caused the incident because the boys dodged her questions when she asked), Allison could make inane small talk and watch her team's back.

"Do you know if Scott's arrived yet?" Allison asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but she felt heat creeping up the back of her neck.

She remembered that afternoon on the bench they spent reconning the Hale Corporation, and that even though they were talking about dangerous secret missions (in code of course), she almost felt like they were actually on the date they were pretending to be on. And she remembered the way he had asked her to kiss him so they weren't made, his big brown eyes frantic and his tanned skin flushed, and she wished she _could_ because she was falling for him more with every kind word, every pen he lent her.

"Danny will let you know when he gets here," Lydia explained, but her voice was tight and when Allison looked over, the red-haired girl was looking at her with an undefinable edge in her eyes. "I know Scott's endearing...but getting close to people in this job hurts."

Allison felt her heart twist in her chest, and she had been so obvious in her affection for the lead agent?

But Lydia's words were short, almost measured, like she had been telling herself the same thing for a while and hadn't quite started believing them yet.

"Is that what happened to you?" Allison asked, maybe a bit more bluntly than necessary, but she was curious about what Lydia meant. Scott might be the lead agent for their branch of IMF, a position that didn't come from sitting on the sidelines and dealing with things diplomatically, but there was something deep inside Allison—the same thing that wanted to protect Lydia from whatever or whoever had hurt her, to tease Stiles like he was the little brother she never had, to joke with Danny about the obliviousness of some of their teammates—that was telling her that the chances of Scott being capable of hurting her were the same as him going rogue.

Slim to none.

Lydia huffed out a mirthless laugh, staring at herself in the mirror, twisting around to study her side that was partially exposed by her dress. "I call it an accident, but what happened to me...it was on purpose. Someone I cared about _made a choice_ and I almost died because of it." Her voice dropped, almost inaudible despite the silence in the room. "I don't know why I didn't die."

Allison didn't know how to respond. She couldn't imagine the betrayal she must have felt, knowing that she was hurt because someone else's decision. She wanted to find the person who had done this to Lydia and introduce him to the business end of her crossbow, but there wasn't time and it didn't look like Lydia was going to be telling her anyone else for the moment.

"Scott isn't like that. _None of us_ would abandon anyone on this team," she implored, knowing the way Lydia sometimes looked at Stiles—this mix of confusion and affection and apprehension—when he wasn't looking. The two women had only known each other for a week, but Allison felt like they were meant to be friends, and friends let each other know when they were (or weren't) going to get their heart broken.

"I can't take that chance," Lydia whispered, an expression of sad resignation falling onto her face for a brief moment.

Allison strode over to the other girl, wrapping her arms around her, giving her a gentle hug from behind, resting her head on the redhead's shoulder. Looking at the two of them in the mirror, she knew that Lydia felt that same kernel of friendship Allison did, like they were sisters separated by an ocean and time, because she had just been trying to stop Allison from making the same mistakes she had.

Smiling sadly, Lydia met Allison's eyes in the mirror, reaching a hand up to hold the dark-haired girl's hand, squeezing it lightly. Her eyes shined with the fear and hopefulness that Allison knew came with new love (and Allison knew that look because she had seen it in her own eyes every time she looked at herself after she had met Scott McCall).

"He's going to die when he sees you in this dress," Allison teased, stepping back as Lydia ran her hands down the front of her skirt.

"He better not, we need him for this plan to work," Lydia retorted, her usual (only slightly) haughty expression replacing the sad one she had been wearing.

Allison grinned, rolling her eyes slightly, because her friend was being _completely_ ridiculous at the moment. "Sure, that's the only reason you want him...alive," she said, making sure to draw out the pause between "him" and "alive," until Lydia looked at her incredulously, a blush on her cheeks.

"Well, Scott would barely be able to keep his eyes off of you if you were wearing a potato sack, so I can't imagine whatever sickeningly sweet look he's going to be wearing when he sees you looking like a badass Disney princess." Lydia pulled herself together (picking her jaw up from where it had been on the floor) enough to send Allison a knowing glance.

It was Allison's turn to blush fiercely, not even bothering to protest or cover up her flaming cheeks—it felt nice to know that she wasn't imagining the attraction and adoration coming from Scott—as the two girls grabbed their room keys, depositing them in hidden pockets in their skirts, linking arms and walking out to the main ballroom.

They separated when they entered the ballroom, Allison took a deep breath, scanning the room for exits or anyone that could be a threat. She was a protector and she would protect her team, because at the end of the night, she had a certain top agent to kiss.

* * *

Stiles' waiter disguise meant that he was practically invisible, the snobby guests didn't bother with anyone not in their tax bracket. And even if he wasn't undercover as the help, the IMF didn't pay him nearly enough to get an invite.

However, as he scanned the ballroom, idly fidgeting with the pen in his pocket, he tried to look like he was working. And he was, just not at the job people expected him to be working.

He knew Scott wasn't supposed to be arriving until closer to ten, but the girls had checked into the hotel earlier—which, according to Lydia, meant that they had extra time to get ready—hoping that the Argent name and Lydia's natural socialite-ness gave them a natural cover. Plus, if they ran into the hotel manager, she could just say she was "trying out" the hotel's accommodations for her wedding. And since he hadn't seen or heard from either in a couple hours, he had to assume that it had worked.

(Stiles definitely wasn't going to be dwelling on the sickening other option when there was still a mission to complete.)

Scanning the room again, he caught a glimpse of one of the security cameras and threw a wink in its direction, practically hearing Danny's sigh in his ear.

" _I know you want to ask, and the girls are just coming through the side entrance now,_ " Danny's voice crackled to life, heavy with mild annoyance that may or may not be false—it was a tone of voice Stiles was very familiar with. " _Now, can you please focus?_ "

"I can focus on two things at once," he quipped, his eyes scanning every face around the side door, the predetermined entrance that Lydia and Allison would come in from.

But he was pretty sure he was about to eat his words (and likely endure endless teasing from Danny and Scott if/when they got out of this) because the moment he caught sight of Lydia, his jaw went slack and he immediately forgot everything that wasn't _Lydia_. Someone could've asked him what his name was, and he wouldn't have a clue. Alpha Pack could've announced themselves to the entire party and kidnapped Cora Hale and he wouldn't be able to move.

He could go on, but then Lydia turned, catching his eye for the briefest moment before her eyes skirted away like the high-society woman she was playing.

Stiles secretly loved these kinds of missions if only because it meant he got to see Lydia like this: gorgeous and completely in her element.

Strawberry blonde hair was curled in loose waves, pulled all to one side, exposing her neck and dangling diamond earrings that swayed with her movement. The dark blue of her dress contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, and he wasn't sure if it was makeup or if she was supernatural, but her skin looked like it was nearly glowing, her cheekbones tantalizingly iridescent.

The dress itself was unlike any he'd seen Lydia wear on one of these things before—a slightly full skirt that had a slit up the right side that exposed her leg to high on her thigh (and since Stiles was a normal, warm-blooded, straight guy, his eyes definitely stayed on her toned legs for a bit longer than necessary, her nude stilettos doing nothing to divert his gaze). It looked like one piece of fabric wrapped from her waist across her chest to a one-shoulder strap, but a matching, tight, corset-looking underlayer pushed up her breasts (which he also spent another second too long looking at) due to the V-neck nature of the dress.

" _Oh my god, stop staring and go ask her to dance already_ ," Scott said, and Stiles shook his head, looking around for his best friend, but felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment when he didn't spot the other agent.

He knew it was a testament to their friendship that Scott didn't even have to be there to know exactly what Stiles was doing, but right now he just wanted to be annoyed that his friend for blowing his (nonexistent) cool to Lydia.

"What the hell, man?" He hissed under his breath, his gaze going to Lydia to see what she heard.

" _Don't worry, she didn't want comms in, just in case Aiden suspects anything and notices_ ," Allison replied calmly, and he looked up, seeing the dark-haired girl on the opposite side of the ballroom and giving him an empathetic smile.

He could definitely see why Scott was head over heels for her—tough, sweet, capable, pretty...his friend never stood a chance.

But then her words registered and he felt a stab of fear in his gut as he realized that Lydia had apparently gone dark for the mission.

"Doesn't she know how dangerous that is?" He shot back, his eyes snapping back to the strawberry blonde. "Did you try to talk her out of it? Why didn't we know until now? We needed to make backup plans and rendezvous points..."

" _Relax, Stiles, you talk any louder and you're going to blow your cover_ ," Danny sighed.

" _We've dealt with agents going dark before..._ Lydia's _gone dark before and we've handled it_ ," Scott added.

Stiles knew that the two were right, but there was that gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure if it was leftover anxiety from his high school days getting the best of him, or a legit gut feeling, but he got the sense that this mission was not going to be like anything they'd dealt with before.

Besides, he didn't want her to feel like she didn't have any backup...not after what Jackson did.

Straightening up, grateful that his waiter uniform could also double as formal wear as long as no one looked too closely, Stiles started making his way through the ballroom. For once, his training kicked in instead of his clumsiness and he was able to weave through the growing crowd with ease.

Lydia had her back turned to him, so he caught sight of the small patch of exposed skin at her lower back, a result of the wraparound nature of the top half of the dress he presumed. Clearing his throat to alert her to his presence before putting a hand on her forearm lightly, Stiles realized he had no plan.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her tone pleasant enough, almost dismissive, but her eyes were looking at him with concern and confusion.

"Do you want to dance?" He blurted out, marginally surprised that his cheeks didn't immediately flame with embarrassment.

"No?" She replied, but it sounded more like a question, like she was confused by him.

With a cocky, lopsided smirk, he held out his hand, knowing that he could win this fight if he wanted. (And it wasn't really a fight, or even something to "win," but he just wanted to give her this moment before the whole mission inevitably went to shit.) "Let me try that again...Lydia, move your cute little ass and dance with me."

"Interesting tactic," she replied, clearly suppressing a grin of her own as she shifted closer, one hand reaching up to rest on his forearm, diamond ring glinting in the light. "But I'm going to stick with no."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles took another step closer, his heart pounding in his chest at the proximity, but managed to keep his composure. "You know what Lydia, for some reason, you act like you're not as smart as you are, and I think I'm the only one who knows that you're probably a legit _genius_ even though you can't solve a Rubik's Cube to save your life, so you know it won't hurt to dance. In fact, it'll probably make you more desirable when Aiden gets here 'cause he seems like the kind of guy that wants what he can't have." (Like Stiles himself wasn't painfully familiar with that feeling.)

With a smirk, Lydia dragged her hand down his arm and grabbed his hand, leaning in so close, he had to suppress a shiver and could see the slight hint of gloss on her pink lips. "My IQ is one-seventy, so I _am_ an actual genius," she whispered in his ear before pulling back, a genuine smile on her lips.

As she pulled him out towards the dance floor, just as a slow song started to play, Stiles could barely stop himself from fist-pumping in excitement. And as he pulled her close, both hands around her waist, her own arms looping around his neck, he didn't even try to stop the soft smile that spread over his face.

* * *

Normally, she wouldn't jeopardize a mission like this. She _wouldn't_. When she was undercover, she was all business. Every flirty smile, every coy slide of her eye, every kiss, even the fake engagement ring on her finger...it was all an act, it all had a very clear purpose with a very specific goal in mind.

But as she rested her head on Stiles' shoulder, Lydia wasn't sure why she was doing this. Why she had felt the swooping sensation in her stomach when he looked at her with that half-smile she'd never seen before. When she ran her fingers down his arm like _he_ was the mark instead of Aiden (and why she had done it without any thought...why it just felt instinctual).

Because this wasn't trying to get a rise out of him in the office because she was bored. This felt more real—his hands around her waist, his fingers brushing against the bared skin of her lower back, lightly tracing patterns there; his (surprisingly) broad shoulders underneath her own arms; his neck bent as he practically rested his forehead on her shoulder, his breath fanning against her neck—maybe more real than anything she'd felt before.

Turning her head so her cheek rested against his shirt, Lydia realized their breaths had started to synch up.

It was terrifying and thrilling all at once, because Lydia was slowly realizing that Stiles just might have the ability to destroy her if he wanted to.

And the last person she had given that kind of power to had done just that: razed her to the ground.

She wanted to pull him closer, wrap her arms tightly around his neck and let herself sink against his chest. She wanted him to finally take the chance she knew he wanted and kiss her, she wasn't particularly picky about where—cheek, mouth, neck, shoulder, she didn't care.

But as she looked around and saw a moderately tall, classically handsome man entering the ballroom, Lydia's skin crawled when she saw his piercing blue eyes scan the crowd, landing on her. It brought back a wave of reality crashing onto her...it was time to get back to the mission.

"I guess your plan worked," she whispered, failing to keep the begrudging resignation out of her voice—maybe Stiles had been serious and the only reason he wanted to dance with her was so that she would look desirable to Aiden.

"Hm?" He groaned, almost like he was waking up from a dream, and the noise only softened her smile. (She also burned the sound into her mind, finding she wanted to remember it for a long time to come.)

"Aiden's here," Lydia murmured, unconsciously pulling him closer, his arms immediately tightening around her waist. "I have to go."

With that, he pulled back, his eyes looking almost golden in the light of the ballroom, and she bit her lip. _How could he look this good in a basic button-up and tie?_ She thought to herself, taking a selfish moment to let her eyes roam over his face, taking in the moles that littered his cheeks and neck, his eyelashes that were enviously long, his nose that turned up slightly at the end, lips with a predominant Cupid's bow. And of course, those gorgeous eyes of his.

(In the back of her mind, she was starting to wonder if she had always noticed his eyes were this pretty...maybe that was why Jackson was always getting pissed off when they had one of their glaring contests over their workspaces.)

Stiles looked at her with an expression she didn't want to decipher, mindlessly wondering if it was because she would like what she saw there. And if she liked that look in Stiles' eye, it would make her job twenty times harder.

Besides, Lydia had already learned the hard way the drawbacks of having a relationship within the agency. No matter what Scott or Allison thought, if they made it work, they would be the exception, not the rule. And while Lydia thought herself as exceptional in almost every aspect of her life (and she wasn't being narcissistic, she had been reliably told so by outside parties since she was fourteen), she knew this was one case where she was clearly part of the control group.

"Go on," he nudged her, his hands dropping to his sides (her skin felt cold now, but she couldn't dwell on it).

Taking a step backwards, Lydia made sure her mask was back in place, because she was terrified of what Stiles could do to her if he knew how much that dance had affected her. Her features were arranged into a neutral expression, her eyes probably older than they should be and her lips pursed in a straight line.

A "thank you" was on the tip of her tongue as she looked at his crestfallen face, he took a couple moments longer to hide it underneath his own determined expression, but she couldn't let it fall. The mission had to come first, to both of them.

But, she let her eyes soften for the briefest moment, and she let her hand reach out and grab his briefly, bringing it up to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist lightly. He was right, if Aiden thought she was off the market, potentially _with_ her fiancé in the area, it would just make him want her more.

In fact, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aiden eyeing the interaction, his eyes dark as they roved over her form. _Which means the dress is doing its job_ , she thought smugly.

 _This_ she could do. Men eyeing her like she was something to possess was basically part of her job description, and that was the kind of lack of control she could handle.

(Not the kind that was made up of golden eyes and sarcasm.)

As she turned away, Lydia couldn't help sending a flirty look over her shoulder, turning the beaming grin that was threatening to escape into a coquettish twist of her lips. Because Stiles had called her smart and trusted her enough to not make a big deal about her going dark for her first mission back in the field—and she knew he _wanted_ to make a fuss about it based on the way she saw Allison looking between Stiles and Lydia before he had come over to her.

(Because he danced with her, and for five minutes she felt wanted... _genuinely wanted_ and not just lusted after for her body and face.)

Making her way across the ballroom, she made sure to keep eye contact with Aiden, her lips curled upwards, her eyes boring into his. She knew what signals she was giving off...namely the sensual, elite, _too good for anyone_ ones, and for a man like Aiden—or what the IMF knew about him—that was exactly what she needed to be to entice him into forgetting his training.

The mercenary's gaze was dark as Lydia approached, but she turned at the last minute, giving him a once over as she did so.

Picking up a champagne glass off a tray a waiter was carrying through the crowd, she had the feeling she was going to need a bit of liquid courage for the night. Except for her dance with Stiles, it was all just feeling a bit too much like _that_ mission for her...and it's not like that dance did anything to settle her nerves.

She glanced around the ballroom, looking like the bored socialite engaged to a boorish fiancé she had left at home, ready for a night of spontaneity and high-class... _fun_.

Allison was hovering around the edges of the crowd, her interested expression a little more forced than Lydia's probably would be, but she had to give the dark-haired girl credit—for her first mission to be an unsanctioned one and to be the main source of muscle for the team, she was handling the pressure remarkably well. And then to actively want to pursue Scott...that took more guts than Lydia would ever be able to muster.

Scott himself was nowhere to be found, but the plan had been for him to enter the party closer to when Cora Hale was arriving so there was probably a half hour until the leader showed.

She couldn't find Stiles, and for an almost six-foot-tall, gangly, mostly clumsy, occasionally spastic guy, he knew how to be invisible when he wanted to be. Her heart sunk a bit at that ( _had he already abandoned her?_ ) but she shook it off, knowing that it was probably a good idea that he _wasn't_ in her direct line of sight.

(And she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that said Stiles wouldn't abandon her. Not like Jackson had.)

"What are you drinking?" A low voice growled in her ear, a hand settling on the gap in her dress on her lower back.

But unlike Stiles, the hand felt heavy, fingers almost digging into her skin instead of dancing across it.

"I can buy my own drinks, handsome," she retorted, making sure he caught the way her eyes roamed over his form, and flashing her fake engagement ring so he got the "hint" that she was taken.

Under any other circumstances, he would be completely her type—muscle-bound body, the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a triangle, and thick arms all stuffed into a tight navy blue suit with a black button-up just on the right side of tight and the top three buttons undone, exposing more tan skin—but the hard glint in his eyes was difficult to ignore.

It reminded her of the mission, however.

Lydia's job was to get Alpha Pack's plan out of him...by whatever means necessary. And golden eyes and a crooked smile were not part of that job and certainly weren't going to help her focus.

* * *

The plan was simple enough, if not a little daring.

Scott was on point, getting close to Cora, preferably snagging a seat next to her for the dinner portion of the night. Stiles would slip the sleeping draught—Scott tried not to think about how it was practically just a slow-release roofie and the moral dilemma that came with—into her drink. Then, Scott would play it off like she couldn't handle her alcohol, and as her "date," take her to her room to sleep it off. In there, it'd be easy to get the diamond necklace off her—Stiles had assured him that the "not-roofie" was effective and really hard to shake—and be gone out the side entrance before her bodyguards noticed she was missing.

Lydia was going to get Alpha Pack's plan out of Aiden so they were ahead of the other group, so when the mercenaries went to Cora's room to get the necklace, they would (hopefully) bail when they saw the Diamond gone. Plus, there was an added bonus if an Alpha Pack agent was the last person seen going into Cora Hale's apartment, so they would be the top suspects when the Diamond was discovered missing in the morning.

Allison was there as backup if Alpha Pack started to get violent. Danny was tech support in the control room, trying to keep an eye out for any other surprises. And Stiles was there to help wherever he could and run interference on Cora's security team as Scott was taking the heiress to her room.

Simple...but risky.

They definitely knew they were going to have to take risks when they found out that they only had three days to plan a heist in which Alpha Pack was going to show up.

Scott took a deep breath, looking around the room, straightening his suit jacket as he did so. Lydia had helped him pick the outfit out (more like shoved it in his chest and told him to wear it on the mission before flouncing out of the room with Allison), a black two-piece with a charcoal-grey button-down that was both practical and stylish, which was just like the redhead, he shouldn't have been surprised but he _was_ a little shocked at how well she knew what he needed after practically looking down her nose at him and Stiles for the past few years.

He spotted Stiles skulking at the edge of the crowd, picking up empty glasses and just moving them from one table to another and avoiding any other waiter.

Admittedly, he hadn't known what Stiles saw in Lydia outside of her looks, but then he saw friend come back to the headquarters to tell Deaton about her accident, blood staining his cuffs and hands before leaving to go to the hospital. His eyes had been hard and dull, his voice tight in a way that Scott had never heard from his brother before. And he realized that maybe it didn't matter if _Scott_ understood why Stiles liked (loved, but he knew Stiles wasn't ready to admit that yet) Lydia, because those feelings were not going away any time soon. And he would be there to support his friend as long as she didn't break his heart.

And based on the sight he caught at the end of their dance, both looking way more relaxed than they should be in the middle of a high-stakes, unsanctioned mission, Scott had a feeling that wasn't going to happen. Despite the fact that Lydia was currently flirting with Aiden, looking like she's hanging on his every word, his hand drifting lower on her back.

That had nothing on the way she had looked at Stiles...like her entire world had turned upside down and she didn't know if she wanted it to go back to the way it was.

Almost subconsciously, his gaze landed on Allison, and he couldn't help the heat that flushed his tan cheeks when the other agent caught his eye. She offered him a soft smile, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

He wanted to tell her that she looked gorgeous, because the deep purple of her dress—or skirt and top set, rather—set off her pale skin and dark hair wonderfully. And the way her curls were pulled up into a hairdo that looked impossibly complex yet effortless at the same time...part of him wanted to take the chopsticks out of her hair, letting the curls spill over her shoulders, but another part wanted to take advantage of having them out of the way to pepper kisses down her neck, remembering how it felt to nearly kiss her during their recon and wanting to know what it would be like to kiss her and take her on a _real_ date, not one for a mission.

But that only caused more heat to surge through him, and he knew that he must look like a tomato, and he needed to remain focused if he wanted to get close to Cora.

Plus, if he _did_ tell Allison how nice she looked, it would have to be over comms, and then he knew there would be no way Stiles or Danny would ever let him live it down—in that way friends do when they tease each other about the people they liked. He certainly had a litany of responses planned for Stiles once they were done with the mission, and would bet Danny had something similar in mind.

A hush settled over the crowd, and he turned towards the entrance, his heart managing to both sink and stop when he saw Cora Hale entering the ballroom. She was holding the hand of a dark-haired man, probably a few years older than Scott himself, wearing an all-black suit and with stubble across his jaw, but slicked back dark hair. Even from far away, the familial resemblance was clear between the two—similar noses, coloring, and a guarded air that only served to make their job more difficult.

The dark-haired heiress was wearing a simple but elegant dress in a dark red color and resting right below her collarbone was the Hale Diamond. The stone was large, offset in a thick, silver, collar-like necklace that wound around her throat. And although he wasn't close enough to see the triple-spiral pattern carved into it, there was no question that it was the Diamond. Taking a deep breath, he knew that it was time to kick the plan into high-gear.

They were on the clock now.

Getting the Diamond before Alpha Pack was clearly important to...someone. He was curious to whom, though, because Deaton had been frustratingly tight-lipped about who had actually contacted IMF about the tip about the Hale Diamond being at risk of being stolen.

It didn't seem like she had entered with her security, but Scott knew that just because he couldn't _see_ the bodyguards, didn't mean they weren't there, watching and cataloguing everyone who approached the Hale siblings. And since Derek Hale was here too, that meant _his_ security detail was there, which meant _more_ eyes on the Diamond.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder, noting that Lydia had sufficiently distracted Aiden so it appeared he hadn't even noticed Cora's arrival. But that was only a good thing as long as Aiden was the only Alpha Pack member at the party, which seemed highly unlikely.

Taking a deep breath, he shot Allison another look, this one steadier, both of them trying to communicate their support to one another. The image of Allison's gentle smile in his mind, Scott started making his way over to the Hale heiress, knowing that Allison would be taking note of where her bodyguards were—most likely blending into the crowd surrounding the siblings—so he could focus on charming the girl.

As he reached Cora, he smiled broadly, hoping he radiated kindness and openness, and _not_ that he wanted to steal the diamond around her neck.

They were on the clock now after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are really starting to get going! The plan is all laid out, I wonder if they're going to stick to it *evil grin*.
> 
> Scallison is just so pure, I love them so much. And I adore the Stydia Winter Formal scene in 1x11 so I couldn't resist adding my own allusion to it here.
> 
> Also, I stole the idea for the "intelli-paper" from Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation where Benji has like a program at the opera and it turns into a computer screen. You gotta have some fun gadgets in a spy fic after all!
> 
> I hope everyone seems in character, or at least a close approximation to their character since this is an AU. There will be others in upcoming chapters that are more OOC, but I really hope that I'm getting the core 5 down.
> 
> Comment, kudos, review, if you want to, it totally validates all this, and I love hearing from readers!!!
> 
> I hope I can get the next chapter up tomorrow night!!!
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	4. Chapter Three: Expect the Plan to Go Off the Rails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that could go wrong, does go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter of my heist/Mission Impossible fic with a title that sounds like it should be a Jigsaw Mystery book! This chapter has more Mission Impossible Easter Eggs if anyone has been catching any of those.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left kudos and comments so far, I really appreciate them all.
> 
> This chapter is where the tension really starts to ramp up, so I hope you like where I'm taking this fic!
> 
> Dress reminders:
> 
> ([Allison](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/9b/52/1d9b520879890e93851757858ee28a36.jpg); in a plum color)
> 
> ([Cora](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7c/b5/38/7cb538624b23669f70924023143e8a21.jpg); in dark red)
> 
> ([Lydia](https://157630.smushcdn.com/89221/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Paula-Patton-in-Mission-Impossible-Ghost-Protocol-e1334689968941.jpg?lossy=0&strip=1&webp=1); in dark blue)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf, Mission Impossible, or the quote from the Flash.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Cora Hale?" Scott asked, after managing to shoulder his way through the crowd forming around the heiress, a small smile on his face and sticking his hand out.

The dark-haired girl gave him a once-over, an eyebrow cocked in expectation, but she took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Well, I would hope so, or else a socialite somewhere is missing a diamond."

Scott forced a smile and a chuckle. This girl was something else, and he hoped it was just the paranoia that came with a mission that had him thinking that her words were chosen very carefully. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't be good."

"I'm Derek," the other Hale said, stepping forward slightly in front of his sister and giving Scott a look that was pretty close to a glare.

 _Great_ , Scott thought as he smiled tightly at Derek, _she has an overprotective big brother._

"Miguel," he replied, internally groaning when he blurted out the codename. Stiles had gotten in his head one too many times, and he ended up using the name his friend always suggested.

"Do you have a last name, _Miguel_?" Derek asked, stressing the alias pointedly.

"Well," Cora interrupted before Scott could blurt out another nonsensical name (he didn't know why all of his undercover skills were suddenly out the window, something about the knowing look in the other man's bright eyes was throwing him off), "I have to make my speech now, but I'll be right back." She gave her brother a sharp look, before flouncing off towards the front of the ballroom.

He gave Derek another tight smile, before turning to watch Cora. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allison and Stiles giving him confused looks from across the ballroom, but he couldn't respond and refocused on Cora Hale. The dark-haired girl was clinking a spoon against a champagne glass, drawing every eye in the room to her.

The room fell silent and as everyone turned towards the girl, he noticed the redness that came to Cora's cheeks and the way Derek tensed next to him. Giving the older man a sidelong glance, Scott wondered if the secretive nature of the Hale family was more by necessity than choice. Cora's eyes looked hard and scared despite the beaming smile on her lips, and Derek was failing at looking relaxed, his eyes scanning the crowd briefly before going back to his sister.

Paranoia was definitely the calling card of the Hales.

"Hi everyone," Cora started, her voice echoing in the ballroom, sounding all too much like the twenty-one year old she was, before evening out and she sounded more mature than Scott thought anyone should at her age. "Firstly, I want to thank everyone for coming tonight, it means a lot that you wanted to celebrate this milestone with me. As you know, we at the Hale Corporation like to give as much as we can, and so for my birthday present, I am donating twenty-one _million dollars_ to the South American Children's Rescue Fund."

There was stilted but warm applause, the kind that meant rich assholes were feeling good about themselves for doing next to nothing. But Cora's smile seemed a bit more genuine than before, and he wondered if she cared a little more than the average rich asshole.

"And every dollar you spend at the bar or on a room tonight or one of the auction items in the next room over, will go to help bring shelter, food, and water to kids who really need it," she grinned, leading to another round of forced applause.

Scott suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, hearing Stiles scoff in his ear—like anyone here really cared about underprivileged kids, it was all about the clout it gave them with other uncaring elites—but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality that the second part of her sentence created.

"What's this about an auction?" He said out loud, ostensibly to Derek, but he hoped Danny or Stiles picked up on his question.

"It's a silent auction," Derek replied, "it's a tradition in my family for birthdays to be fundraisers as well."

" _Lydia and I checked out the auction list,_ " Stiles said in his ear, voice steady and matter-of-fact, " _there's nothing on there worth stealing. It's mainly naming rights for the next hotel or paintings and shit._ "

"Got it," Scott nodded. They didn't have the resources to keep an eye on the auction room _and_ steal the Diamond off of Cora, it was a call only he could make, one that the team would follow him on this one without question, trusting his instincts. "I guess we'll have to keep an eye on it then."

Derek gave him a confused glance before turning back to his sister who was wrapping up her speech. But he heard Danny sigh over the comms before confirming that he would keep track of the auction as well.

It couldn't hurt to surveil the auction room just in case, but the primary focus had to be the Diamond.

"So, how'd I do?" Cora asked, returning to the two of them, smiling and thanking the guests who kept coming up to her.

"Well all these stuffed shirts feel like they're making a difference, so I'd say mission successful," Derek grinned wryly, giving her a side-hug and pecking the side of her head.

"Oh, don't you have someone else to bother?" Cora grumbled with a roll of her eyes, but her brown eyes were bright.

"Fine," Derek sighed, his tone full of faux-exasperation that hid true affection, "but I don't want you spending all your time with Lahey tonight. You're a Hale, remember?"

 _Lahey?_ Scott furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if they had missed something with the bodyguard. A quick glance showed that the other man wasn't even in the vicinity, so he was confused by the other Hale's statement.

And that feeling was only exacerbated when Cora rolled her eyes and blushed, before grabbing onto Scott's arm tightly. "Well, I'm sure my new friend, _Miguel_ here wouldn't mind keeping me company for a bit, _right_?" She looked at him pointedly, her smile a bit too sharp for a socialite (it reminded him of Lydia's grin sometimes, like she knew something you didn't and was prepared to cut you down to size).

"O-Of course," Scott stuttered, plastering a smile on his face. He knew the overprotective brother gene well, because he had certainly interrogated some of Stiles' girlfriends before, but he had to concede that Derek might have a little reason to worry since he was about to roofie his sister in an hour.

With a nod, the elder Hale sibling squeezed Cora's shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Scott turned towards the heiress, offering her his arm. "It would be an honor to buy you your first drink of the night," he grinned, tone light and amiable.

"Lead the way," Cora took his arm, the two walking over to the bar that was set up against the edge of the ballroom. "Vodka martini, stirred, please," she ordered, flashing the bartender a smile. Turning to Scott, who was putting a twenty on the bar, and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Buying you a drink?" He said, but it came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

Cora rolled her eyes, taking the martini from the bartender and sipping her drink, giving him a pointed look from over the rim. "You know it _is_ my party, right? You don't actually need to pay for my drinks."

"Right," Scott shook his head, having the sinking feeling that he was being out-talked.

"I know my brother is a bit... _intense_ ," she said, and the abrupt change in topics threw Scott for a loop.

 _Why couldn't Stiles be the one to charm the heiress?_ He groaned internally, because although his second was talkative and hyperactive at times, on a mission, he was the one who was better at all this double-talk shit. Scott preferred directness in general, and usually "leading the team" meant fighting whatever adversary they were up against. But, unfortunately, for this particular mission, that meant sticking close to Cora Hale for when Alpha Pack came after her.

But he was _definitely_ being out-talked.

"I'm sure he's just looking out for you," he replied slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I have a brother too...and he's always got my back. Annoying as hell sometimes, but I can count on him."

"I hope so," Cora replied, scanning the ballroom, obviously looking for someone but not finding whoever or whatever she was looking for. "But if scaring away potential _friends_ was his goal...well, mission accomplished."

Scott practically choked on air, his heart thudding to a dead stop in his chest at those words. When he looked at the girl, she had an eyebrow arched knowingly, holding the Diamond in between two fingers, the triskelion pattern glinting in the light.

 _There is now way the mission could have gone to hell this quickly_ , he thought. The IMF might not have that much good luck, and unsanctioned teams even less so, but this seemed way too early for their cover to be blown.

"Wh-what do you mean?" He asked, desperate to keep his cool.

"Well..." she sighed, looking at him seriously, "with too many alpha personalities around, I think I'm going to need some friends in my corner."

Yeah, she definitely wasn't a naïve heiress. Cora knew something was going down, maybe Derek did too.

_Shit._

* * *

Lydia was bored...and more than a little pissed off.

Aiden's hand had been inching steadily downwards for the past twenty minutes, resting on the top curve of her ass, and she had to pretend like she hadn't noticed. She _wanted_ to break all the fingers in his hand before kneeing him where it hurt, but _no_...they needed _information_.

God, she had been spending way too much time with Stiles if her thoughts were becoming this sarcastic.

"So...don't think I haven't noticed you flashing that rock around," Aiden interrupted her thoughts, what was probably supposed to be a charming smile twisting his lips into a sneer.

Lydia looked at the diamond ring on her finger, feigning innocence. "Oh, this little thing? What about it?"

With an even harsher sneer of his lips, Aiden grabbed her wrist (a little too tightly, but Lydia managed not to grimace), bringing her hand up so it was in between them, studying her ring intently. "That couldn't have been your fiancé I saw you with earlier...he didn't seem like your type at all."

Holding in a roll of her eyes, she wondered what it was about Stiles that made people think they couldn't be a couple. Aiden, the hotel manager the other day, Jackson, they all thought he was an idiot for liking her, but she thought he was brave. Lesser men would have given up on her a while ago. (And a few had.)

Lydia just gave him a preening smile, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes, her voice dripping with honey. "Of course he wasn't, handsome."

"Good," he growled, shifting closer—the two were leaning against one of the bar height small, circular tables that were scattered around the edges of the dance floor—until there was only a couple inches of space between them.

Her skin crawled, but she made her eyes flicker down to his lips, then skate over his form, muscles rippling as he moved. His hand was digging into the skin of her back and his grip on her wrist was starting to get uncomfortably tight.

(She didn't want to think about why this mission felt more difficult than the countless other times she'd been in a situation like this since she passed her field agent's exam...but her side twinged with phantom pain.)

"What do you think _is_ my type?" She asked, pursing her lips and quirking an eyebrow.

"Hm," he hummed, pretending to think, tugging on her hand to pull her even closer. She could smell his aftershave, a heavy cloying scent that she knew was _not_ going to be coming out of her sinuses anytime soon. Her free hand landed on his chest, and it was effective at keeping him from leaning closer while making it seem like she was flirting (her hand twisting in his blazer, fingers dancing over his pecs, maybe biting in a little harder than necessary). "I think...you like the bad boys. A little bit of danger, even," he murmured, his eyes heavy and dark (but not in the fun way, in the _I'm a professional mercenary-slash-assassin_ kind of way).

"Astute," she dropped her gaze, her voice a little more serious than seductive.

Her heart sank in her chest, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. Because, up until two months ago, Aiden would have been spot on, she probably would've slept with him before she got the information even and would've felt no remorse about it.

(She didn't understand why Stiles would fall for someone like her in the first place.)

(She was a bitch to everyone, usually slept with their enemies, and only flirted with him because it made her feel good to have the upper hand on someone for once. Not to mention, hiding her intelligence because it was so much easier than having to deal with all the questions and responsibilities of owning her own genius.)

And a week ago, she probably would have even agreed with Aiden's assessment without hesitation.

Before she knew what Stiles looked like when he was following a lead, his hands waving about maniacally, eyes clear and bright with excitement that made it easy to imagine him as a kid.

Before she pretended to be engaged to Stiles and he looked at her with the full force of the affection he usually kept hidden, and she got to hold his hand and lean into his side like she was made to stay there for the rest of time.

Before he lent her his sweatshirt because she couldn't be bothered to get her jacket from her car, and then she kept it because it smelt like him and that made her feel safe for some reason.

Before he...before he...?

(Did he come back for her? No, he couldn't have.)

But she couldn't think of that now, Aiden was already looking at her like he wanted to devour her, and she had to let him in order to get him to slip up and reveal Alpha Pack's movements.

So, she just tilted her head, making sure her hair was falling perfectly over her shoulder in strawberry-blonde curls, and pretended to look around, like she was determining whether anyone else had caught her eye. Over by the bar, she spotted Cora and Scott talking, and felt the shadow of that bitchy mean girl from high school reappear as she felt just a teeny bit smug that she was almost better dressed than the heiress.

Cora's daring V-neck set off her tanned skin and the enormous diamond resting above her cleavage, but other than that, the dress was simple enough—a slit in the side to her mid-thigh, a low back, and a slightly loose top pulled in at the waist was more elegant and sophisticated rather than the statement Lydia was making in her dress.

Thankfully, Allison didn't seem to notice Scott talking to the Hale girl, but she really had nothing to worry about. From what she could see, the lead agent was barely holding his own. (Plus, he was so obviously head over heels for the Argent girl, no one, not even a pretty, rich socialite could turn his head.) She was currently talking to some twenty-something investor, his slicked-back hair and shifting eyes gave him the classic look of a trust fund baby with no boundaries...but at least he wasn't a professional assassin, and Allison could handle herself.

Stiles, as per usual (except for their dance, for some reason), was nowhere to be found. Deep down, a part of her had hoped that she would have been able to see him the way he always seemed to see her...but maybe he didn't want her to find him.

Not when there was a mission to be completed.

"So..." he drew her out of her musings, yanking her hand a little sharply to bring her attention back to him. "See anyone here that's your type?"

"Oh, am I supposed to say _you_?" She teased, her eyes boring into his, a smirk tilting her lips.

She could deal with Aiden, Aiden was what she was used to dealing with after all. And he _was_ her type.

"I mean...aren't I everyone's type?" The mercenary smirked, looking at her lips deliberately, licking his own as he did so.

Lydia turned her head right as he leaned in, his lips falling on her cheek.

But, apparently, he couldn't recognized a rejection unless she hit him over the head with a baseball bat, since he just took the opportunity to kiss his way from her cheek to her neck. Tilting her head back, acting as if she was actually turned on by his pawing at her ass and the way he was sucking on her neck wetly, Lydia let out a sigh.

Jackson was the same way though, he could hardly ever read when she was actually enjoying anything he was doing to her.

She gritted her teeth as his hand gripped her ass possessively, his other hand squeezing her wrist so tightly she knew she was going to bruise.

Suddenly, Aiden jerked forward, his lips detaching from her neck with a sucking sound, and he whipped around, his hand tightening around her wrist even more. With his eyes dark and murderous like they were, Lydia felt her heart seize up, her lungs pushing out tight breaths. It was easy to imagine him murdering someone, easy to recognize the same look that _he_ had given her that night.

"Oh, sorry about that, man," a familiar voice pulled her back before she could fall too deep into her memories.

 _Stiles._ Lydia suppressed a grin as she saw the messy-haired intelligence specialist standing on the other side of Aiden, having clearly just run into him.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, spaz," Aiden bit out, taking a step towards Stiles, his fist clenched where it rested on her back, his knuckles biting into her skin.

"Hey, I'm not looking to start shit," Stiles replied, his hands up in the classic "I surrender" gesture, but his eyes were flinty as they looked at where Aiden was gripping her wrist.

"Well, why don't you get lost," Aiden replied, but Stiles hesitated as he caught her eye.

"Are you good... _miss_?" He asked pointedly with a raise of his eyebrows, his golden eyes almost alight with fire.

Lydia realized that he would totally blow his cover, and probably the mission, if she said that she wasn't okay. If she wanted him to save her.

Tightening her grin and tossing her head, her nose in the air and hair cascading down her back. "I'm alright, thank you for asking," she assured him, making sure to keep her tone polite—just another socialite talking to a waiter.

"Yeah, keep walking perv," Aiden grumbled under his breath, turning back towards her.

She saw a muscle in Stiles' jaw twitch, and she tried to send him a silent apology through her eyes, even as Aiden reattached his lips to her neck.

 _I'm so sorry_ , she grimaced, knowing how it must feel to see her like this...especially after their (moment?) dance. She certainly would be wanting to tear the hair out of the scalp of an assassin-bitch who was putting her lips all over Stiles.

But he disappeared into the crowd, and Lydia was certain that he didn't catch the hidden meaning in her gaze.

"Why don't we get out of here?" He growled into her ear, and she _should_ be happy. This was the moment she had been waiting for—get Aiden in private and get the information out of him about Alpha Pack—but she had a feeling in her gut that if she left the ballroom, things were not going to go the way she thought they would.

"Are you sure?" She asked, making sure to keep her voice breathy and wavering, the picture of a young fiancée who wasn't sure she wanted to cheat (more) on her intended.

"Let me rephrase," he hissed, his hand suddenly gone from her wrist to grip at the back of her neck, too tight to be mistaken for passion. His blue eyes bored into hers, the darkness no longer just _lust_ but danger as well, a look that brokered no refusal. "We're going to go back to my room, have some... _fun_ , and then...I'll leave you for your little spy friends to find."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Trying to jerk her head away proved useless since his hand on her neck kept her in place, but she didn't have to fake the fear in her voice.

"You know what I mean," Aiden replied slowly, his eyes unsteady, but he licked his lips once again. "But then again, I guess incompetence is the IMF's MO, isn't it?"

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in shock as her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

_Shit._

* * *

Stiles kept reminding himself that he shouldn't get angry. That he _couldn't_.

Because, not only did he have to worry about keeping their cover intact for the mission, he wasn't her boyfriend or partner, and he certainly didn't think he had any kind of right to her feelings or her body. Maybe that was why he got so pissed at Aiden's hands grabbing at her body like he _did_ own it.

Lydia deserved so much more than being felt up in public by a mercenary. She deserved romance and cute dates and to be worshipped because she deserved to _know_ what it was like to be loved.

And it wasn't like Stiles really thought that _he_ would be the one to get to love her and take her out on dates between missions (although, maybe the little seed of hope in his heart had grown a bit after their dance and she looked at him like she was confused because she was seeing him for the first time). He just hoped that whoever she _did_ decide to spend her time with knew that she deserved the fucking stars, and that they would do anything and everything they could to give them to her.

He poked his head into the auction room, feeling it couldn't hurt to do a quick scope of the items up for sale. Allison and Danny were more than capable of keeping an eye on Lydia and Aiden, and Scott and Cora Hale, if he slipped out for a moment.

(Plus, it took him out of the ballroom, hopefully to cool his head because he had just purposely "bumped" into Aiden and had been two seconds from punching the man in his stupidly symmetrical face.)

He kept to the edges of the auction room, and the crowd was thinner there than in the ballroom and quieter as well. There were hushed conversations taking place in small groups throughout the medium-sized room, mainly about the bids being placed and the items up for auction. Danny had managed to find a list of auction items from the Hale servers, and Stiles and Lydia had taken a glance one night when it was way too late and they really needed to sleep, and had come to the agreement that there wasn't anything worth taking eyes off the Hale Diamond for. A couple rare art pieces, some other smaller Hale heirlooms, and naming rights for the next hotel were the main draws.

" _What the hell are you doing, Stiles?_ " Danny sighed, and Stiles could practically see the technician's resigned expression.

"I'm just covering all our bases," he muttered under his breath, glancing at a wooden box with the same iconic Hale triple-spiral carved into the top. It looked like some five-dollar souvenir from a beachside tourist shop, but if the Hales owned it, it probably was going to be treated like it was as precious as a rare gemstone.

" _Oh God, he went to check the auction room, didn't he?_ " Scott replied quietly.

"Don't you have an heiress you should be focusing on?" Stiles retorted softly, no real bite in his tone. He knew his friend was just looking out for him, but he didn't need to be babysat—he was a fully capable IMF agent after all.

(At least that's what he told himself in moments like this. It became a little harder to believe when he remembered the blood on his hands, both literally and metaphorically.)

" _She's still in my life of sight, she's just ordering another drink_ ," Scott muttered. " _I can't stick to her side like a leech...she'll get suspicious_."

Stiles raised his eyebrows in silent acknowledgement, knowing the delicate line his undercover teammates had to walk on these kinds of missions.

But that only brought his thoughts back around to Lydia, and the bubbling anger rose in his gut once again. There was a very real possibility she was heading back to Aiden's room right now, flirting and smiling and probably kissing (yeah, okay, he was jealous, he never claimed to be perfect), and he wondered, not for the first time, if she meant more with that last glance she gave him.

Her green eyes were normally filled with determination and emerald fire, but when Lydia looked at him over Aiden's shoulder—the assassin going back to mouthing at her neck, Stiles' hand was white-knuckled in his pocket, the hand with her ring reaching up, her fingers splayed—there was a softness in them. Almost a sadness, with her perfect eyebrows turned upwards in the middle and her pale pink lips in the ghost of the grin she had given him just moments before, reassuring him that she didn't need anyone to save her.

But, he stuck his hand in his pocket, the ridges of the keycard digging into his palm, and he felt his lips tilt upwards in a smirk.

Playing Lydia's knight in really shitty armor had more purpose than just to soothe his jealousy and insecurity rearing its head, and yeah, he wanted to protect Lydia even when she didn't need it. (Because he remembered what her blood looked like staining his shirt, his hands, a cocktail dress, and he was terrified of that happening again.) But he knew when to take a risk that could pay off later in the mission.

" _Uh, we have a problem here, someone has to get back here ASAP._ " Danny's voice was harsh and urgent, pulling Stiles back to the present.

It wasn't unusual that there were surprises on a mission, and since Stiles knew everyone else was needed in the ballroom, he was already moving towards the staff entrance—a hidden door situated behind a pillar.

"I'm on my way," Stiles replied, giving the auction room one last glance before slipping through the door.

Once he was in the back hallways, he didn't hesitate to start jogging through the corridors, knowing he just looked like another harried waiter. Thankfully, he didn't pass any other waiters and it was only a few turns before he was back in the hallway leading to the control room, just from the opposite direction.

Stopping in front of the door, he knocked softly three times, shifting his weight from foot to foot, unable to curb his restless energy.

Danny was notorious throughout their branch of the IMF for being level-headed, and while Stiles knew that he had only been in the field for a few missions since passing his field exam, he was also aware that his friend was more than capable of handling the pressure and the risk. So, if he sounded that shaken up, something really awful must be going down.

The door opened, revealing the tanned technical analyst, his dark eyes troubled.

"Is she doing okay?" He couldn't stop himself from blurting out, anxiety taking over his mind as he jumped to the worst (in his mind) case scenario.

"We all might not be okay real soon," Danny replied, to which Stiles just leveled him with an unamused look because that was doing _nothing_ to ease the tension squeezing his chest.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, following Danny back into the control room, replacing the chair underneath the door handle.

"Tell me that's not Deucalion," the tech said by way of explanation, pointing at one of the screens, showing one angle of the ballroom.

And, sure enough, there was a tall man, well-dressed in a three-piece suit, gray hair slicked back. Even though he was careful to keep his face turned away from the security cameras ( _There is no way he's legally blind, he's avoiding hidden security cameras for fuck's sake!_ He thought) the long cane that was attached to his hand was unmistakable. And by his side, was another smartly dressed man, heavily muscled and of medium height, although this one wasn't as careful since he looked right into the security camera, giving the uneasy impression that he was looking right at the two agents...and his face was identical to the one Lydia was probably looking at right now.

"Yeah," Stiles replied heavily...their job had just gotten fifty times harder. "That's Deucalion."

_Shit._

* * *

"Scott," Danny started, reaching a shaky hand to tap a few lines on the keyboard, bringing the feed with Deucalion and Ethan to the center of the screen, "Deucalion's here, along with Ethan...Aiden's twin."

" _Damn it_ ," Scott replied, his voice harsh and frantic. " _We need to get Cora out of here now._ "

Before Danny could respond, his eyes still glued to the image on the computer monitor, his heart beating out an irregular patter ( _God,_ he hoped this plan would happen the way he thought it was going to), a string of fairly impressive curses drew his attention.

Stiles' face was drained of all blood, and it wasn't like he wasn't already pale to begin with, so now he looked closer to a ghost or a corpse than a person. His eyes were glued to a feed in the corner of the monitor, and Danny followed his gaze. He then knew what had caused the other agent to stop dead in his tracks.

Weaving throughout the crowd in the ballroom—and a quick scan of the rest of the camera feeds showed that they were heading in the direction of the bar, AKA in the direction of Cora Hale and Scott—was a couple that, under almost any other circumstances, and could be mistaken for some celebrity power couple. The man was of average height, filling out his tight, dark grey suit well, light brown (almost blond) hair trendily styled up and out of his face, and the woman just a bit taller than him in her heels, wearing a bronze-colored dress that was incredibly daring with its cutouts and slit.

But they weren't just a nouveau-riche high-society couple...well, technically, they _might_ be, Danny wasn't sure what their financial situation was at the moment.

"There's more," Stiles said, his eyes never leaving the screen, one hand shoved into his pocket, but Danny could tell he was clenching his fist tightly. "Malia and Theo are here."

" _Fuck_ ," came Scott's reply, and Danny was taken aback slightly, having never heard the team leader curse so violently before. " _Allison, we need to find Cora_ now _._ "

"You _lost_ Cora Hale?" Stiles shouted incredulously, starting to pace as Danny began scanning the camera feeds for the heiress.

" _If you haven't noticed,_ " Scott drew out, exasperated, " _it's a little crowded in here and she is not exactly tall._ " There was a short pause, and the two agents exchanged a look before studying the feeds. " _Do you know why Allison isn't responding?_ "

Danny spotted the dark-haired young woman on one of the monitors, over by the door to the lobby—nearly across the room from where Scott was standing, looking around the room frantically.

"She's by the lobby door," Danny relayed, grimacing as Allison gave the camera a desperate look, clearly bored with the investor who was monopolizing her attention. "I don't know who she's talking to, but she's a little tied up at the moment."

"Our cover is about to be blown any minute so, who gives a shit what some investor thinks," Stiles bit out, the edge in his voice could've cut through solid steel.

" _I'll be right back_ ," Allison's voice came through over comms, and Danny had barely processed her voice, before Scott sighed in relief.

The two of them were so disgustingly worried about each other, it was too sweet. He hadn't heard of many relationships between agents that ended happily, or even between an IMF agent and someone on the outside. He'd heard multiple stories about what happened to Ethan Hunt's wife—from her being dismembered by Serbian mobsters to her going underground while Hunt could only check in with her every so often. But no matter what story Danny heard, they all ended with the couple separated by time and distance at best, or life and death at worst.

It definitely set off butterflies in his gut. Danny was pessimistic by nature, well, more of a realist, and the history and the facts didn't bode well for starting a relationship with someone... _in the business_ , much less in the middle of an unsanctioned op. Much less with...

" _So that's three Alpha Pack members and two international assassins?_ " Allison's worried voice cut through his thoughts.

"Correct," Danny started, but Stiles leaned forward his eyes flying across the array of computer monitors.

"Wait," Stiles stated, his face deadly serious. "Danny, can you pull facial reference off these cameras and start cross-listing with the IMF's database? I have a bad feeling there's something going on here that we're missing."

With a sigh, Danny had a similar feeling in his own gut that they had prepped for the wrong mission, but he nodded, pulling up the database on one sheet of intelli-paper and started the process of cross-checking the faces.

"Standby," Danny replied, and he could hear the tension over comms, the static and feedback deafening in the silent room.

Stiles started pacing, pulling out a room key from his pocket and staring at it, but Danny kept his eyes on his tablet, his heart pounding in his throat, the blood rushing in his ears. With each face of an individual on the IMF's watchlist that passed by, a small "no match" notification appearing on the paper, his heart started to slow back down to a normal rate.

But Danny's heart stopped when a red "match" notification popped up.

A slightly blurry still of a dark-haired woman looking over her shoulders, leaning at the bar and taking a sip of her drink, was pulled up next to the IMF "official" mugshot of Corrine Gomez. An international assassin known as the "Desert Wolf" because of her ruthlessness.

Stiles hung his head as he saw the notification, a half-hearted curse echoing in the room.

"The Desert Wolf's here too, Scott," Danny broke the news solemnly, his heart just barely restarting in his chest.

"So three, _three_ , world-renowned assassins and at least three members of Alpha Pack," Stiles reiterated, running his hands through his hair. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

" _Stiles, we need to get Cora out of here_ now," Scott demanded, his voice thick with the authority and weight of being a lead agent. " _Meet me by the bar with the pen...I think the clock is ticking even faster now._ "

Stiles nodded, and Danny couldn't say anything, couldn't open his mouth or else he felt like the entire contents of his stomach were going to come out. They were officially outnumbered by enemies, and no one had eyes on Cora.

In fact, he was scanning the monitors, and _he_ couldn't even find the heiress, the crowd becoming even more dense as guests started pouring in for the dinner service.

"I'll be right there," Stiles sighed, sliding the keycard over to Danny. "Can you see what information you can get off this? I swiped it from Aiden."

With a nod, Danny put the room key on the top page of intelli-paper, running a quick program to get the information of who booked the room and the basics of the reservation. He knew the other agent was now frantically worrying about the strawberry blonde who was now face-to-face with one third of the Alpha Pack presence at the party. "You gonna' be good?"

"I gotta' get this to Scott," he deflected, holding up a pen—the same one he used to knock out the security guard only an hour or so ago.

Danny gave him a grim nod, knowing that he was focusing on the mission instead of his personal feelings...something Danny was having trouble doing at the moment. His eyes kept being drawn to the monitors, tracking Deucalion and Ethan as they moved through the ballroom.

The other agent disappeared out of the control room, shoving the chair to the side, practically sprinting out the door.

He turned back to the computer monitors, frantically trying to find the rest of his team and the multitude of enemies all converging at Cora Hale's twenty-first, but it was becoming more difficult by the second. Scott was still clearly visible by the bar, Malia and Theo were cutting a path through the crowd boldly before splitting up, Deucalion and Ethan were recognizable just be the former's cane. He saw Allison darting through the crowd, craning her neck, and he could've predicted the agent's voice coming through over comms.

" _Something's happened to Cora Hale's security_ ," she said, her voice high and desperate. " _I'm trying to get a better look, but it looks like..._ "

Her final words were drowned out by all of the blood once again rushing to his head as the notification that his program had finished running on Aiden's keycard.

And the name there should've been surprising, but Danny just felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he saw the name next to "occupant." Of course this was connected. He's shocked they hadn't realized or anticipated this happening sooner.

_Peter Hale._

_Shit._

* * *

Being undercover was turning out to be way more boring than Allison had thought.

Give her a fistfight or a standoff anytime, but making small talk with the elite guests that came to Cora Hale's party was proving to be beyond her patience.

Especially Matt Daehler.

God, if she didn't have to hear anyone talk about stocks or investments or hedge funds ever again, it would be too soon. Almost ten minutes after Cora Hale had entered, the young investor had cornered Allison and started talking her ear off and it was all she could do to smile and nod like she was interested.

She didn't know all the rules of high society or cocktail party small talk, but she figured that telling your conversation partner to "fuck off" was probably frowned upon.

It certainly didn't help that she saw Scott grinning and blushing as he talked to Cora Hale over by the bar. Allison wasn't a jealous person, by nature and virtue of their jobs, she knew that one or both of them would be in situations at times that forced them to act in ways that they wouldn't normally, or flirt with other people. It was just that he didn't look like he was playing a role as he talked to the heiress.

She cringed at herself, however. She knew that she was being petty and jealous and that they had bigger issues to deal with at the moment than her love life.

(Besides, when it came down to it, Allison trusted him, and she knew that she wasn't imagining the look he had on his face when he walked her to her car the night before. His face had been so full of sweetness and affection that she felt her heart literally melting for him. She had almost kissed Scott that night, just told him that he could kiss her if he wanted, to say "fuck it" and grab him by the back of the neck and crush her lips against his.)

"Are you sure you're not a model?" Daehler asked, bringing her out of her fantasy and she had to restrain herself from giving him an incredulous look.

 _Does he really think that is going to work?_ She thought, trying to find a way to let him down easy.

"No..." Allison said, drawing out the word so that there was no way he could misinterpret the _what the hell_ tone of her voice.

"But are you _sure_?" He persisted, leaning closer to her and she had to stop from wrinkling her nose at the smell of his heavy cologne. "Because I'm sure I've seen you in... _magazines_ before."

Allison had to look up at the ceiling, hoping she was finding a hidden security camera and that Danny could see her palpable disgust.

At this point, she wasn't sure what Daehler's angle was. One minute he was talking to her about how much money he was making for his father's company and then he was sleazily hitting on her. Did he really think that was an acceptable seduction technique outside of misogynistic novels from the eighteenth century?

God, something could not happen sooner.

(She was definitely going to regret thinking that in a few minutes.)

"I'm pretty certain I know what I have or haven't done in my life," Allison retorted, smiling at him with a grin as sharp as one of her arrowheads. A grin that only got sharper when she saw a flicker of unease in his eyes.

"Well, then I must be confusing you with someone else," he backed off, and Allison let out a little sigh of relief at that. "But," ( _oh, great, what now?_ ) "I am an amateur photographer...you should let me photograph you sometime."

Allison had to raise her eyebrows at that, "Oh, really?" She had no idea how to respond to that, but she had a feeling that it was time for her to make her exit.

Looking around, her eyes immediately flew to Scott at the bar, but Cora was nowhere to be found. Her heart started creeping up her throat—where was the younger girl? She knew Scott was good at his job, that if he wasn't by Cora, he wouldn't have let her out of his line of sight. But as her dark eyes flew around the room, not really caring at what Daehler thought of her at the moment, she had to find her friends.

Lydia was still with Aiden, but the redhead's back was to Allison, and she felt a curl of anger in her gut when she saw the mercenary's hand directly on her friend's ass. Sure, she had only known Lydia for a week or so, but even she knew that the other girl would not appreciate the overt PDA. And Stiles was nowhere to be seen, but she had a feeling that the second would probably have an aneurysm if he saw Lydia in that position.

Or, maybe not, because they were about to have bigger problems.

" _Malia and Theo are here_ ," Stiles said, and Allison had to force her face to remain neutral at the names of the two assassins, even as a stab of fear went through her. She had never encountered the deadly couple before, but she'd heard tales of their ferocity, body count, and general lack of care for collateral damage.

" _Fuck_ ," Scott's voice came through her comms, and she couldn't help but grin a bit despite the distress in his voice, " _Allison, we need to find Cora_ now."

"So, my grandfather had actually let me use the company's plane for a visit to France over the summer. The Whittemores had joined us...did you know their son was just recently in an awful accident?" Daehler interjected, and despite the fact that the guys were talking over comms frantically, her attention snapped to the trust fund kid in front of her.

Her face had fallen, no longer trying to keep up the philanthropist façade or polite expression. It just had to be a coincidence, right? Lots of rich kids jetted around the world, and France wasn't exactly an obscure country.

But there was part of her gut that was twisting in the way that signaled danger was afoot (but that could also be because of the fact that Cora Hale was nowhere to be found).

"I'm sure that was quite exciting for you," she replied slowly, vaguely hearing Danny give her position to Scott, ignoring the second half of his statement. Allison shot what she assumed was the nearest security camera a glance, just to let him know that she was going to try and get away when she could.

"Yeah," Daehler replied, his own eyes glinting with an edge that hadn't been there a second before, but it was gone before she could really notice it, "there's so much history and culture there...who knows, I might go back."

" _Our cover is going to be blown any minute_ ," Stiles' voice cut through the buzz in her head, " _so who gives a shit what some investor thinks?_ "

Allison wasn't sure if "some investor" really applied to Daehler anymore—the words "grandfather" and "France" digging their way under her skin—but he wasn't the mission. Cora Hale and the Hale Diamond were the mission, and her team, her leader, needed her at the moment.

"I'll be right back," she told Daehler, but she made sure it came through on the comms so that her team knew she was back on track.

Her cheeks reddened as she heard Scott's relieved breath in her ear, as she turned away from Daehler, she managed to catch Scott's eye. His brown eyes were shining so brightly that she could see it from across the room. Her grin was genuine and she knew he could see the softness there.

"So that's three Alpha Pack members and two international assassins?" Allison asked, just to clarify, having vaguely heard the back-and-forth between Danny and Stiles about Deucalion and Aiden's twin arriving at the party.

" _Correct_ ," Danny started to say, before Stiles told him to wait and then the comms shut off, his " _Standby_ " being the only thing to tide them over.

"That can't be good," she muttered to herself, weaving her way through the crowd, her head on a permanent swivel as she looked for Cora Hale.

Even in heels, the heiress couldn't be more than five-foot-seven, and the crowd was getting thicker as more guests arrived.

The feeling of unease intensified in Allison's gut, as she looked over and saw Aiden and Lydia close together, tension radiating from the couple. But she didn't have time to stop and make sure her friends was okay (even though she desperately wanted to), and she had faith that Lydia could handle herself.

As she kept pushing through the crowd, her eyes zeroing in on the back of the dark-haired head that she was hoping was Cora Hale. Sliding through the crowd, falling back on her aunt's training and keeping a slight smile on her lips even as her eyes were hardening, falling into "mission mode" as her dad liked to call it.

A small break in the crowd let her move a little faster towards the head, and her heart swelled as she saw the dark red dress that the heiress had entered wearing. But her relief was only short-lived as she saw the other young woman stop and turn to the side, and Allison saw who she had been talking to.

" _The Desert Wolf's here too, Scott._ " Danny's voice sounded like it was far away or underwater.

" _So three,_ three, _world-renowned assassins and at least three members of Alpha Pack,_ " Stiles retorted, and if Allison wasn't overwhelmed by how outnumbered they currently were, she would laugh at the image of the other man, probably pacing and pulling his hair out.

But all she could think of was, _Four...four members of Alpha Pack_.

Because she recognized the man talking to Cora Hale, clearly pretending to be one of Cora's security detail, his hand on her elbow possessively, eyes flinty.

"Something's happened to Cora Hale's security," Allison breathed out, unclear if any of the rest of her team was even listening—she had heard the rest of the boys' conversation and she knew that they were scrambling to kick the plan into high gear. "I'm trying to get a better look, but it looks like Ennis."

Ennis—arguably the "muscle" of Alpha Pack—had infiltrated the Hale's security, and her heart sank as she realized that if Ennis could do it, _all_ of the Hales' security could be compromised.

_Shit._

* * *

As the time inched closer to ten-thirty and Cora Hale's twenty-first birthday dinner, the unsanctioned IMF team was in disarray...

* * *

Stiles dashed out of the control room, hands tugging at his hair, the pen clutched in his hand, but he had just turned a corner, the doorway to the ballroom in sight as he was slammed against the wall abruptly. His mind was running a couple miles a minute, as he tried to figure out a way for the mission to be salvaged. He was worried for his friends, guilt and anxiety worming their way into his mind.

He gritted his teeth in pain and glared at his attacker. "What the hell do you want, Theo?"

* * *

Scott looked around frantically, his eyes darting everywhere for Allison, and he had just caught a glimpse of the other agent, her dark updo distinctive amongst the crowd when a hand landed on his thigh, sharp nails digging in pointedly.

He turned around, his eyes hard when he caught sight of the assassin there, but she just grinned at him a little sharply, almost feral. "Malia," he said by way of greeting.

"Good to see you too, handsome."

* * *

Lydia couldn't believe that she let Aiden intimidate her like this.

His hand was entangled with her left, their fingers twined together and his grip was so harsh, she knew he had the strength to break them if he wished. She skimmed the crowd, but couldn't find any of her friends, and she hoped that didn't mean they couldn't see _her_.

With one last desperate glance back into the ballroom, fear in her gut, Lydia let herself be led out of the view of the cameras.

* * *

Danny didn't even think when there was a knock on the door, his mind too focused on the absolute shit show that the mission was turning into. He was furiously typing on his tablet, trying to find out if Peter Hale was on the guest list in the first place.

Which was why his heart stopped in his chest as the door opened, even though Danny was still at the desk, immediately realizing that Stiles hadn't replaced the chair when he left. And then he was staring into Ethan's hard blue eyes, a gun in his hands.

* * *

Allison couldn't wait for the team to respond to her cry that Ennis was there.

Ennis took the Hale girl's arm, looking over his shoulder and although his eyes seemed to be roaming the crowd, she couldn't help but feel frozen in place as he caught sight of her. She didn't know if he recognized her, but Ennis started pulling Cora towards the door.

"I have eyes on Cora Hale," she declared over comms, her feet unfreezing from the floor. "I'm going after her."

"Does anyone copy? I'm going after Cora Hale... _does anyone copy_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the first cliffhanger of the fic!!
> 
> I hope that last section was easy to understand, I just had the idea of images flashing by of each character since they were all separated like the end of a TV episode, to show where everyone is as we set up the climax of the fic.
> 
> And we have some more characters introduced, we'll get more of "crazy Bonnie and Clyde"!Maleo as I've been calling them next chapter. I hope my characterization of Cora and Derek was good, and that you guys are intrigued by the little mystery/all the questions I think I'm alluding to.
> 
> Let me know if you have any theories, general comments, fangirl/boy moments. etc. I love reviews and kudos!!
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter Four: Throw Away the Plan (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some scrambling happens as the plan is thrown out, we meet some new friends and some old ones, some old and new friends are lost, some punches are thrown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another chapter, and it's not super late at night this time! This one and the next chapter were originally planned as one, but the next part got super long and for *the drama* I cut it in two.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who reads, comments, gives kudos, I love you all!!
> 
> This chapter and the next are where it gets a little darker in tone than the rest of the fic, just more intense as the action ramps up, and it's nothing worse than the show I don't think.
> 
> Also, there's an incredibly brief mention of suicide in this chapter, just be forewarned, it's in Danny's POV but is not in reference to any of our main characters.
> 
> Also also, we finally get to meet some characters that were promised on the tin, so I hope you enjoy what I did with Malia/Theo as much as I had fun writing them!
> 
> Dresses:
> 
> ([Allison](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/9b/52/1d9b520879890e93851757858ee28a36.jpg) in a plum color)
> 
> ([Cora](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7c/b5/38/7cb538624b23669f70924023143e8a21.jpg) in dark red)
> 
> ([Lydia](https://157630.smushcdn.com/89221/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Paula-Patton-in-Mission-Impossible-Ghost-Protocol-e1334689968941.jpg?lossy=0&strip=1&webp=1) in dark blue)
> 
> Malia's dress is based on Maggie Q's dress in MI:3 (here it is on a model, I couldn't find a good pic from the movie [Malia](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcTJCjHnw2rIMUWXx7tJ8nj21993qsf--HdCWA&usqp=CAU) but in like a sparkly, bronze/rose gold color)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not Teen Wolf, not Mission Impossible, not the quote from The Flash.
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles pushed against the arms holding him by his shirt against the wall, his eyes narrow and furious. Theo Raeken stumbled back slightly, that cocky smile still on his face (making Stiles very much want to punch his teeth in).

"Long time no see, Stilinski," Theo said smugly, and Stiles could feel his blood pressure rising with every word.

"Not long enough," he growled in return, shoving the other man again, his anger and frustration keeping him moving forward. Scott was probably already wondering where he was, and the faster he could get the pen to the leader, the better chance they had at making this mess of a plan work.

His team was ridiculously outnumbered by terrorists, mercenaries, and assassins—one of which was standing in front of him with an antagonistic look on his face—they had no backup to speak of, no reinforcements, and were totally scattered throughout the hotel. And any D&D player could tell you that having a split party was a horrible idea.

And because Stiles was an idiot, he shook his head and started to walk away, knowing that he had to get to Scott ASAP, and hoped that Theo would just leave them alone until the mission was over.

But he wasn't that lucky, so the second he turned his back on the assassin, Theo grabbed his shoulder, pulling him backwards, clearly trying to put him in a headlock or some other hold.

Instinctively, Stiles ducked away, jabbing a fist towards Theo's face, but the other man dodged, his own hand flying towards Stiles. He grabbed the assassin's wrist, twisting it outwards, just about to where one sharp yank would break his arm, using his free hand to land a solid punch in Theo's stomach.

It was satisfying to see the assassin lurch forward with a grunt of pain, because Stiles might not be the strongest or most coordinated agent at the IMF, but he knew how to get himself out of scrapes when necessary, and was never afraid to fight dirty. And although Theo was a couple inches shorter than him, the other man was definitely built more like a football quarterback than Stiles, so he couldn't help but be a little proud at downing the assassin with a couple punches.

But Theo wasn't down for long, sweeping Stiles' legs out from under him, sending the agent crashing to the floor, all the air leaving his lungs in a huff. Theo scrambled up into a crouch as Stiles was still dazed on the floor, putting a knee on Stiles' chest, grabbing his shirt front again, and landing a hard punch to his left cheekbone.

However, Stiles was so hopped up on adrenaline he barely felt the pain, but he jabbed Theo in the side, right above the kidneys, stunning the other man briefly, giving Stiles enough time to throw the assassin off him. He rolled into a standing position, his mind racing, trying to decide whether he should run or if kicking Theo while he was down was too much of a dick move.

And as much as Stiles was kind of a dick sometimes, he needed information more.

So, he grabbed Theo by his blazer's lapels, shoving him against the wall roughly, a reversal of their positions from just a minute ago.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Raeken?" Stiles growled, anger and adrenaline mixing into a volatile cocktail inside him and his patience was dangerously close to snapping.

(This was the side of himself that he didn't like his friends seeing.)

(The dark rage bubbling within him that he tried to keep a lid on. And he normally succeeded, but Scott had seen that anger come out a few times in the past, and even though his friend had never said anything about those instances, Stiles was terrified for whenever they would have to have that talk.)

(He was just relieved that Lydia had never been around to see him lose control, that was something he knew he wouldn't be able to come back from...not like he had a chance in the first place.)

"Can't I just enjoy a party with my girlfriend?" Theo retorted with a false innocence, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Stiles just slammed him against the wall again, hearing the other man's head crack against the plaster. "Try again."

"Well, what the fuck do you think we're doing?" Theo rolled his eyes, looking disturbingly calm for the guy pinned. "These kinds of things tend to attract some pretty high-profile targets. You can't fault us for doing our job."

"You know, I think I can when your job is to _kill people_." Stiles gritted his teeth, there was no one that could get under his skin like Theo Raeken, his skin crawling with his smug grin.

Well, maybe Jackson Whittemore if he ever decided to show his face at the IMF again.

"Like your hands are so clean," Theo spat, his own anger breaking past his usual arrogant mask. "You still with McCall's team?" He asked, suddenly calm again, like they were just having a casual conversation. But when Stiles didn't reply, he rolled his eyes, "Come on, Stilinski, I know you're still pining after that redheaded bitch."

A flash of red crossed his vision and he pulled a fist back and punched him solidly in the nose, hearing cartilage crack under his hand.

(He felt a kind of sick satisfaction at the noise, but he pushed the feeling out of his mind...besides he couldn't help feeling just a _little_ justified when Lydia wasn't there to punch him herself.)

Theo just laughed, blood running down his face and staining his teeth red. He swiped a hand under his nose, seeing the blood there, and looked at Stiles, impressed. "Wow, I didn't think you had it in you, Stilinski."

"I don't think I could give _less_ of a shit about what you think of me," Stiles replied, that anger resurfacing. "Who is your target?"

"Is that _really_ the question you want to be asking me right now?" Theo grinned smugly, clearly trying to distract him, but it was working.

Stiles felt his grip tightening, his knuckles going white with nerves, and the uneasiness that settled in his stomach as his mind ran through all the worst-case scenarios he could think of. "Well, what should I be asking, then?" He ground out, not wanting to admit that there was the slight chance he was terrified of the response.

Leaning his head against the wall, Theo grinned and huffed out a dry laugh, his blood-stained teeth making him look only slightly more deranged than usual. "I think," he started, drawing out the words, pretending to think, "I would start with where my redhead wet dream is right now...and with _whom_."

Stiles barely registered what he called Lydia, his fear drowning out the anger. Theo was an asshole trying to get a rise out of him. Lydia actually mattered.

And they had left her alone, with no way of getting in contact with the rest of the team, armed only with a diamond ring and stilettos. They couldn't leave her out to dry like Jackson had.

 _He_ couldn't abandon her like that.

Shoving Theo against the wall one more time, Stiles let go and sprinted towards the ballroom door, not caring how he looked, bursting through the door like a bat out of hell.

His chest was tight and his breath was coming in shorter and shorter pants, and he felt the floor tilting beneath his feet. He was reminded of the panic attacks that he used to get when he was younger; he hadn't one in year, and he _definitely_ couldn't afford to have one now.

Through blurry vision, Stiles forced himself to look through the crowd, barely restraining himself from calling out for her. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, and he desperately wanted to shove through the crowd, asking everyone where she was until he found her and could pull her into his arms and assure himself she was safe.

But he couldn't find her anywhere.

* * *

"Ugh, you're no fun when you're all tense like this," Malia groaned with a roll of her eyes. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and took his drink in front of him, downing the rest of his bourbon in one go.

"Why are you here?" Scott asked, barely able to focus on the assassin next to him, his eyes searching for...anyone really. He had heard Allison's voice in his ear, she sounded determined but the message she had to deliver had clearly shaken her.

With the arrival of Ennis, almost the entire Alpha Pack was at Cora Hale's party. And there couldn't be a good explanation for that. As coveted and well-protected as the Hale Diamond was, Scott didn't think that Alpha Pack would risk their entire operation for it.

But, unless he could get away from one half of a deadly couple, he couldn't regroup with the rest of his team and they couldn't get the Hales out of the hotel before the mercenaries could get to them. He turned to Malia, who hadn't bothered to answer his question and was just examining him with a blunt expression that said, _Are you done asking stupid questions?_

"Where's Theo?" Scott decided to change tactics, grabbing Malia by the upper arm to pull her closer, not bothering to stop the hard expression that clouded his dark eyes.

He needed to get rid of Malia as soon as possible in order to regroup with whoever was left (he hadn't seen Lydia in a while and Danny hadn't said anything in a couple minutes, which was not encouraging). Scott couldn't bear it if he was too slow to help his friends, if he was the one that couldn't do his part for the mission.

"Looking for Stiles," Malia replied matter-of-factly, checking out her manicure, her nails were that long fake kind women sometimes had that looked too much like claws for Scott's liking.

"Well, what is he going to do when he finds him?" Scott sighed—it was like pulling teeth with her. For someone who could be so blunt sometimes, she could be really closed-lipped when she wanted to be.

Malia just bared her teeth in what was supposed to be a smile. "The same thing I'm doing, _Scotty_...figure out what the hell the IMF thinks they're doing here."

"Well, we're not IMF anymore," he replied, trying to keep his voice casual, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he might have overcompensated. Deaton was serious that they would be disavowed if they were recognized or if they could be linked back to the Diamond's disappearance.

"Sure," she scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "you can tell me that. Doesn't mean I'll believe it."

Scott bit back a scathing retort, knowing that it would just make it even more obvious that he was lying if he got defensive (Stiles had taught him that trick back in sixth grade when they got caught daring each other to jump from Scott's treehouse). So, he just shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear relaxed.

"Stiles and I left a couple months ago," he shrugged with a raise of his eyebrows. "We're just here for the same reason you are."

Malia looked genuinely baffled at that, her eyebrows arching and her dark red lips falling open in surprise. "I didn't know you guys had joined the assassin game," she nodded, apparently believing him. "But I guess it wasn't long before Stiles got bored with your goody-two-shoes 'no collateral damage' policy."

Anger bubbled in his gut on behalf of his brother, because what did she know?

Just because Stiles was seemingly always the one to have to get his hands a little bloody, that didn't mean he wanted to. He knew that Stiles was trying to keep him safe, to salvage the mission when it inevitably went to hell.

(And that didn't mean Scott wasn't uncomfortable with the number of people Stiles had killed, he trusted his friend enough to know that he would tell him about the worst of it when he was ready.)

He wanted to tell Malia that just because they had seen Stiles at a low point (blood staining his shirt, splattered across his face, that look in his eyes that meant he was dangerously close to going into shock), that didn't mean he was anything like her or Theo. But, he had already backed himself into a corner with Malia, so he had no choice but to play along.

"It's better money this way," he said carefully, trying not to feel just slightly disgusted with himself. Lying was definitely not his style, and especially not lying about being an assassin.

"Yeah," Malia sighed dreamily, "twenty million for a spoiled rich girl's neck is basically just free money for whoever gets to her first."

"What the hell did you say?" Scott growled, pulling her closer, his voice dropping, anger and fire licking up and down the words. He really hoped she had not just said what she did.

Malia smirked, leaning in, her own voice taking on a huskier tone, and her eyes were dark as they held his gaze. "Twenty. _Million_. Dollars. All for killing poor, sweet, innocent Cora Hale." She pursed her lips, her tone mocking, her fingers walking a path up Scott's chest. "And that's not even including the Hale Diamond. I can't wait to see Theo's face when he sees me wearing it. Just the Diamond...and nothing else." She pulled back with a smirk, and Scott knew his cheeks were turning a dark red.

Ignoring the second half, he focused on the fact that Alpha Pack and Corrine were definitely _not_ here to steal the Diamond.

For groups like Alpha Pack, killing the Hale heiress had unknown implications, they were known for their assassinations, and with four members at the party, including Deucalion, they were unlikely to fail. And that wasn't even accounting for who might have hired the mercenary-slash-terrorist group.

Scott had to get the rest of his team together as soon as he could.

Not bothering to respond to Malia's little teases—shame burning faintly in the back of his mind that he was so taken by her little seduction when he had first encountered the couple—he looked around once more, just in time to see Stiles burst out of the staff entrance.

The night could apparently get worse, because he had not seen his friend look that frantic in a long time. Stiles barely noticed Theo coming up behind him, choosing instead to look around with an almost desperate tilt to his head, and Scott felt a brief pang in his stomach.

That look only meant one thing: something had happened to Lydia.

Getting to his feet, Scott tightened his grip slightly on Malia's upper arm—not enough to hurt much or to leave a mark, but enough that she wasn't getting away unless he let her go—and started marching her towards Stiles and Theo.

"You are going to tell us everything you know," he growled. He didn't like it one bit, but she knew more than she was telling him, and they were quickly running out of time.

"Or what?" Malia asked, her voice steady but when he turned to her, his eyes hard, Scott saw a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

"Or I'll kill you," he lied, but judging by the way that apprehension turned to fear, he would say he did a good job selling it.

He just hoped that by the end of the night, all of them could walk out of the hotel in one piece.

* * *

His heart was in his throat as he looked at Ethan's cold blue eyes.

He thought they had a plan, and this was definitely _not_ part of the plan.

Danny stood up from the desk, leaving his tablet-clipboard on top of the table, making sure to flip a couple pages of intelli-paper on top of the page open with the keycard information. Holding his hands up, he looked at Ethan, wondering whether he should start talking or if the other man was going to explain what he was doing.

His eyes were drawn to the gun in Ethan's hand, wondering if he had been played the entire time.

"Ethan..." Danny started, his voice wavering, desperate that he hadn't completely blown the IMF's position.

The other man checked over his shoulder, apparently checking that the door was closed, shoving the chair back underneath the door handle.

 _Great_ , Danny thought, his heart practically stopping in his chest, _I'm definitely about to be murdered. Third mission in the field and I already fucked everyone over._

His brow furrowed as Ethan made a show of lowering his gun, tucking it in his waistband behind his back. The mercenary took a few cautious steps forward, and Danny couldn't help but feel a little hope that the hardness was starting to melt in his eyes.

Danny opened his mouth, to ask what the hell Ethan was going to do or what was even happening, when he felt firm lips underneath his own.

Grinning into the kiss, his eyes snapped closed as a wave of relief washed over him.

_He hadn't fucked the entire mission up._

He couldn't help leaning into the kiss as Ethan's arms wrapped around his waist and his own arms encircled his shoulders. It had been a while since he'd seen the other man in person and security camera footage was doing the built man absolutely _no_ favors.

As much as he wanted to stay wrapped up in Ethan for as long as humanly possible, as Danny pulled back, the reality of their situation slowly started to come back to him.

"So..." Danny sighed, his lips curling upwards in a smirk, "I guess that means you accepted my offer, huh?"

Ethan grinned in clear satisfaction, his pupils dilated and canines looking sharp in the light. "I saw some merits in it, yeah."

He couldn't help beaming at that, the relief settling deep in his bones—it was unbelievable to him that the risk had actually paid off. But as his eyes caught sight of the monitors, the dread and anxiety crept back in.

"Shit," he muttered, regretfully stepping out of Ethan's hold to study the monitors further. Malia Tate was being dragged over towards the staff entrance by Scott, and a quick scan of the other feeds confirmed his suspicion that they were heading towards Stiles and Malia's partner in _literal crime_ Theo Raeken. Lydia was nowhere to be seen, and a couple taps brought up a feed from a back hallway that showed Allison disappearing into a stairwell without cameras.

And the rest of Alpha Pack was stalking towards a hidden door before disappearing into another hallway without cameras.

"What's wrong?" Ethan asked gently, putting a hand on the technician's shoulder comfortingly.

Without thinking, he put a hand on top of Ethan's, his thumb rubbing over his knuckles. But he looked over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly serious. "I need you to tell me everything you know about what's going down tonight."

For a second, Ethan froze, and Danny wondered if he was rethinking his decision. But then he hung his head, nodding once. "I don't know why you guys are here, but..." he paused, for half a moment, looking at Danny with a resigned expression, "there's a twenty million dollar price on Cora Hale's head. Everyone is here to kill her."

Fear felt like a stab in his chest with every one of Ethan's words.

So, not only were they outnumbered, but they had prepped for the complete wrong mission. That was probably what Scott had found out from Malia, and he felt like such an idiot for not figuring out sooner that the Hale girl's life was in danger after three assassins showed up to her party. Him and Stiles had been so worried about the fact that the assassins were even there in the first place that they hadn't stopped long enough to think about _why_.

He knew the other boy would be beating himself up too for not figuring it out sooner.

But he shook his head, he couldn't focus on anything but finding a way to keep Cora Hale alive, because although their mission had been to steal from her, no one in IMF wanted her dead.

"Ennis has her, and I can't find them on the cameras," Danny said in a low voice that was definitely not as calm as he had been hoping. "What the hell was your plan?"

Ethan nodded, his lips in a tight line as if he had expected Danny to say that. "He's meeting Deucalion on the roof...they're going to make it look like she killed herself."

Danny's heart squeezed and he felt like he was going to throw up. It was the biggest scandal on the West Coast when Laura Hale killed herself the day after her twenty-first birthday, jumping off the roof of this very hotel. And now, if Alpha Pack succeeded, it would look like Cora had succumbed to the same pressure of being the Hale heir, or couldn't take living past the age her beloved sister died at.

"What were you going to do?" Danny asked, trying to keep his focus on what he could do to help his team.

"Take control of the security room," Ethan replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face, Danny couldn't help but feel like they had caught a bit of a break. "We can totally send them down the wrong path."

But that break only lasted once Ethan got into the control room and defected to Danny's side. If Deucalion suspected that Ethan had betrayed them—maybe by not giving him the right information about any opposing teams' movements—he would know exactly where to find him.

Shaking his head, Danny stood up, gathering his tablet and doing a quick check of the room to make sure they weren't going to leave any clues behind.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Ethan sighed, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before stepping back as the two quickly left the room.

They were making their way down the hallway, trying to look casual, Ethan's eyes were seemingly cataloguing each face they passed. "Scott," Danny said quietly over comms, glad that he had already transferred the most important security camera feeds to his tablet so he could see his teammates and Malia and Theo talking heatedly right outside the door. "I'm coming your way, the security room's compromised, and...I've got a canary."

It was a short pause, but it felt like hours before Scott's voice replied. " _Copy, Danny. We'll see you in a minute_."

He let out a sigh of relief at that, knowing Scott was a good leader, trusting almost to the point of naivete, but Ethan would get a chance to help build a reputation with IMF and Danny could help his team, satisfied that he hadn't blown his third field mission.

Well, the night wasn't over yet and Danny was a pessimist at heart (realist on a good day), and there were still plenty of ways the mission could end poorly.

* * *

Pushing through the door, Allison didn't stop, running flat out in her heels as she rounded the corner.

Ennis had dragged Cora Hale through the doorway leading to what Allison presumed was a back staircase, and she had waited just long enough for the mercenary to believe he wasn't being followed before sprinting for the stairwell herself.

Thankful for the hidden slit in the side of her skirt, leaving her legs free, she gathered the material in her hand, holding it by her waist. She took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the first landing, leaning over the railing and looking up. Ennis was already two floors above her and although Cora's legs were kicking out and she heard shouts, Allison knew that there was not much the heiress could do against the wall of muscle she was being held by.

She cursed as she saw Ennis getting further away. She couldn't keep chasing him with no real backup. Slamming her hands against the railing in frustration, Allison hung her head in defeat, closing her eyes briefly.

She was about to call Scott over comms to tell him about Ennis' movements, when a door opened below her, drawing her attention. Barely catching a glimpse of a basic black suit and blond hair, Allison launched herself over the railing, her skirt flaring out as she dropped a story. Landing hard on the balls of her feet (she was just glad a stiletto didn't snap), Allison grabbed the other person by the jacket, slamming him into the wall next to the door and bringing her right arm up to his neck. She was pressing her forearm into his throat just enough that it was uncomfortable but not enough to cut off his air supply yet.

"Where are you going?" Allison sneered—if Ennis had managed to get a spot on Cora Hale's security detail for the night, who knows who had helped him. They had to consider everyone on the Hales' teams suspect until proven otherwise.

Lahey—with his blond curls, boyish face, and blue eyes—had the innocent look down pat, and even though he was almost a head taller than her (and she was in heels), his eyes were downcast like a kicked dog. He didn't say anything, he couldn't meet her eyes, just kept glancing up the stairs and then back to the floor.

"I'll ask you again," Allison dug her forearm a little harder into his throat so he knew she meant business. " _Where the hell are you going?_ "

"Where's Cora?" Lahey asked in response, his voice desperate and sad. "Who the hell are you?"

She scanned his form real quick—taller than average, probably over six foot, leanly muscled, in a black suit and white button-down, black dress shoes that were scuffed at the toes—and took her arm away slowly. While he didn't look like too much of a threat, obviously he was a bodyguard for the Hales, so he was certainly dangerous, but there was something in the way he was standing (head tilted up, eyes nervous, jaw tense) that told her that he wasn't a threat to her.

"I'm Allison..." she started, taking a step back as Danny's voice sounded off in her ear. Holding a hand up to Lahey as she listened, the universal symbol for " _give me a minute_."

" _Scott, I'm coming your way, the security room's compromised_ ," the tech relayed, and Allison's heart sunk at the words, " _and...I've got a canary_."

Wondering who Danny had managed to get to help them, she chewed on her bottom lip, looking at Lahey, an idea forming in her mind.

" _Copy, Danny. We'll see you in a minute_ ," Scott said, and it was his voice that spurred Allison into action. (If he could manage to hold onto his kindness and soft brown eyes and still manage to become a top agent, she could take risks to help him.)

"Hold on a second," Allison cried out, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I think I have a canary too."

" _Two in one mission?_ " Stiles interjected, the hard edge of sarcasm in his voice. " _I suppose something had to go our way at some point._ "

"I'm coming to you, Scott," she whispered, trying hard not to think about how intimate it sounded.

" _I'll be waiting_ ," the leader replied, his voice just as soft as hers had been, sending butterflies careening around her stomach.

Shaking her head, trying (and failing) to wipe the small smile off her face, she turned to Lahey, raising an eyebrow. "You want to help Cora?"

"Of course," Lahey responded immediately, his blue eyes wide and hopeful.

"Then follow me," Allison nodded, turning and leading the way back out into the ballroom.

She felt Lahey trailing behind her as her eyes scanned the room, finally finding Scott's dark hair on the opposite side. Her heart practically skipped a beat as their eyes met, giving him a slight grin to indicate that she was on her way over.

Checking over her shoulder, just to make sure Lahey was following, Allison wove her way through the crowd. She looked for Lydia, but she couldn't find the redhead anywhere, and as she reached the odd group, she realized that the missing girl was probably why Stiles looked like he was ready to throw up and/or punch something.

"Where's Lydia?" She asked, not bothering with introductions, looking at Scott, a question in her eyes.

"I don't know," Stiles bit out, pacing in a short back-and-forth and chewing on his thumbnail. Allison realized that his cheek was bruised, and a quick glance showed that Theo Raeken's nose was bleeding. "With _Aiden_."

Danny and a man who looked exactly like Aiden arrived just as Stiles was spitting the Alpha Pack member's name like it was a horrid curse.

There was a tense silence as it seemed like everyone was holding their breath, wondering how Stiles was going to react (there was a part of Allison that was expecting him to lash out, her own heart had sunk when she saw the familiar face, her instinct turning her to anger for a brief second), but the messy-haired man just kept pacing, his eyes hard, clearly ignoring the twin.

"Are you sure about him, Danny?" Scott asked gently, sizing up the other man.

The technician just looked at Ethan for a second, before nodding surely and Allison let out a breath. She was surprised how quickly she trusted these people, but she did. If Dann believed that Ethan was on their side, she would trust the mercenary in turn (maybe not as unconditionally as she did her team, but she wasn't going to bother stressing about his loyalty when there were still three Alpha Pack members very much _not_ on their side).

"This is Isaac Lahey, Cora Hale's bodyguard. He wants to help too," Allison introduced the other man, ignoring the sideways look he gave her, having never actually told the dark-haired girl who he was. But she just gave him an innocent look, one that said, " _this is clearly the least of our problems right now_."

"Did you see where Ennis was taking Cora?" Scott asked her, his big eyes open and trusting and she wanted to sink into them forever.

Allison shook her head, shame rushing through her. "I couldn't keep up, but they're going up."

"He's meeting Deucalion on the rooftop," Danny supplied, causing Stiles to curse violently, and Allison raised her eyes. All the blood looked like it drained from Lahey's face, as he stuttered, trying to form words but failing. "They're going to kill her, make it look like suicide."

Allison's heart stopped in her chest. Not only had she left Cora with Ennis, but she had abandoned the girl with a man who wanted to kill her. Scott looked horrified, and his hand reached out to grab hers, giving it a light squeeze, reassuring her.

The only chance the heiress had for survival was a group of twenty-some year old disavowed agents, a turncoat mercenary, and a young bodyguard with absolutely no clue how they were going to save her. They didn't even have their whole team together.

Malia and Raeken didn't look shocked, and she should have figured that the assassins likely knew that Cora was in danger...why else would they have come?

"Okay," Scott breathed out (his hand still in hers), his voice steady, "it's not that complicated. We just need to get to the roof before Deucalion and the Desert Wolf."

"The Desert Wolf is here?" Malia spoke up for the first time, her eyes wild. Allison gave the other woman a subtle once over, taking in her shimmering bronze-rose-gold dress and gorgeous features. (Yes, she was a little jealous by how close her and Scott had seemed to be, but then she saw Raeken step forward, curving an arm around her waist and pull her against him, and she felt the green monster retreat.)

"We'll handle Corrine," Raeken declared, almost daring any of them to challenge him, his eyes positively murderous. And in that moment, it wasn't difficult to imagine him as a cold-blooded, if not cold-hearted assassin.

Scott and Stiles seemed to have an entire conversation in the look they exchanged, and Allison turned to Danny who just shrugged. They both knew that it was Scott's call, and although the couple were assassins-for-hire, they clearly had some kind of repartee with the other two men.

"You get Corrine, you clear out, and we'll _consider_ not giving your location to IMF," Stiles explained, his voice hard in a way Allison had never heard from the usually sarcastic, if not slightly goofy, boy.

So, she would trust their judgement on this, but she wasn't exactly at ease with the decision. But they were also running out of time and options.

Raeken nodded, and Malia wrapped a hand around his arm, the two stalking away from the group. Allison wondered idly why they were so willing to give up on their mission so quickly for the other woman, but she didn't have time to question it.

Cora Hale was in danger. Lydia was still missing.

"We have to get moving," Lahey exclaimed, running a hand through his curls, and Allison had to agree.

She looked at Scott, nodding her agreement—she was not leaving his side for the rest of the night, she would watch his back, fight beside him until they were in the clear.

"Can you find a way out for us?" Scott turned to Danny and Ethan and the two men nodded firmly, muttering their assent. "Great, then the four of us can get to the roof..."

"I have to find her, Scott," Stiles interjected, his voice nearly breaking. "I can't leave her..."

And Allison had been expecting it, but she was surprised at how broken he sounded. She knew Lydia could handle herself, but they had no way of finding her, she had gone dark and there was an heiress who needed their help. But she had been planning on finding her friend immediately after they saved Cora, her heart cracking when she realized that she had already made the choice to get to Cora first.

(If these were the kind of decisions Scott had to make on the regular, she was shocked his eyes were as kind as they were, she felt like she had lost something in herself when she had decided to save Cora.)

"Go," Scott nodded, clearly urging his friend forward.

"The last I saw, Aiden was taking her out past the lobby," Danny added, slipping him something as the other boy gave a weak smile in apparent gratitude that his friends weren't going to stop him.

Allison watched him dash off as she clutched Scott's hand tightly, looking up at him with a sad look in her eyes. She couldn't imagine being separated from him in this moment and she hoped that Stiles found Lydia before it was too late.

* * *

Lydia's breath was coming in shorter spurts as she tried to keep herself from panicking. She was really regretting not wearing a comms piece for this mission, at least then Danny might be able to track her. Instead, she had to rely on the cameras to follow her movements, and since Aiden was, unfortunately, not a complete idiot, he was avoiding the cameras as much as possible.

She had the sinking feeling that once she had left the ballroom, once she lost sight of her friends, she was going to be on her own.

And that terrified her right down to her core.

Fighting to keep tears from coming to her eyes—because she was still a professional, damn it—she looked at Aiden, his grip on her hand feeling like her fingers were moments from breaking. His other hand had been by her side, but once they were out of the ballroom, it snapped to the back of her neck.

Instinctively, her free arm flew up to grip at his wrist, his hand practically around her throat, pulling on her hair painfully.

She knew that to cry out in pain was going to be useless, but Lydia couldn't stop the little squeak of surprise and fear and pain from escaping her.

"Shut the fuck up," Aiden hissed, using the hand in her hair to yank her head backwards, pulling her against him so he could look down at her. It was a perversion of a lover's grip, his face only inches from hers, his breath wafting against her face.

His words broke something in her, and she made her eyes harden, smoothing her creased features out so she appeared calm and in control, even though she felt anything but.

"They'll come for me," she replied bravely, forcing a smirk to curl her lips, taunting him. "And when they do...oh, when he comes for you, you're going to wish you had never taken me from him in the first place."

Aiden just met her smirk with a cruel sneer of his own, the entire expression twisting his handsome features into something almost feral, sending even more fear (terror, really) shooting through her. "You think he's coming for you?" He laughed coldly, and Lydia felt her entire body freeze.

It was like she had been thrown into an ice bath and held under the water until she couldn't breathe. Her skin was crawling with goosebumps as if the temperature of the entire hotel had gone subarctic, her eyes were wide and full of horror and loss, her body started shaking uncontrollably. Even though she had no idea what the rest of her team was doing, she realized that she had been telling the truth to Aiden (or at least what she believed to be the truth).

That her friends (but not just her friends, _Stiles_ ) would come save her.

Even though she had been such a bitch to him in the past, even though she had just told him that she hadn't needed his help, she hadn't needed him to save her, a half our ago when he had offered to rescue her from the very man hurting her right now.

Stiles was supposed to save her.

(And she knew she wasn't supposed to be a damsel in distress, waiting around for a man to come and take her away from her attackers. She was supposed to be strong enough to save herself.)

He was supposed to find her, because she found she didn't have the strength to save herself.

"Your little boyfriend abandoned you once before," Aiden hissed, his mouth moving to whisper in her ear. "And that was when you put out...what makes you think that spazzy, sorry excuse of an agent will save you now?"

And Lydia didn't have a response to that.

Because, deep down, she didn't know for certain that Stiles would,

Twisting up her face, she tried to remain defiant, but she knew that _Aiden_ knew he had her exactly where he wanted her: alone and terrified and hopeless.

As he strongarmed her up the stairs, she couldn't help but think that he was right (even as she fished the room key out of her pocket and let it slip from her fingers at the bottom of the stairs). Jackson had abandoned her, and she had to listen to him over the comms as he called her dead weight and that he was leaving because he didn't want to get pulled down with her.

It was just supposed to be a simple assignment.

It was just supposed to be the two of them, their first mission together, just them.

Jackson had told her that they didn't need backup, that _he_ was all the backup she was going to need—even though she was walking into a hotel (a hotel very much like the Hale Hotel) bar to meet an unknown buyer. She was supposed to be posing as the seller of a black market formula, one they had "stolen" from a Swedish scientist. In reality, it was just an algorithm she had come up with in the tenth grade to determine the number of stares she would receive in correlation to how high her heels were or how short her skirt was.

But, when the buyer had appeared, she had come face-to-face with the notorious black sheep of the Hale family: Cora Hale's disowned uncle, Peter Hale.

She had managed to keep her composure, even though Jackson was practically fuming in her ear that they had made the ID and that was all they needed, so get out of there.

However, as Lydia had sized the older man up, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than a simple sale, that they had stumbled upon something larger, something more dangerous.

Maybe she _had_ been over her head, wanting to get conspiracy charges on Hale, but she had excused herself to the bathroom to tell Jackson her plan. He had merely replied that she was crazy.

And as she let Peter Hale lead her up to his room (and she couldn't tell if Aiden was gripping her hand down and steering her down a hallway, or Peter's handsome yet cold face was looking down at her), she heard Jackson leave her.

Then, she was alone with Peter Hale and her thoughts.

From then on, her memory was fuzzy, and while she knew it was normal for a person to want to suppress traumatic memories, Lydia couldn't help but want to know what had happened to her in that hotel room.

(A flash of a knife...or maybe a knife-like smile glinting at her in the dark.)

(Pain searing her side, like her flesh had been torn by teeth.)

(Distantly, someone calling for her name... _Lydia! Lydia!_ )

Tears started to leak out of the corners of her eyes, and she thanked God for waterproof makeup because she didn't want to give Aiden the satisfaction of seeing that he ruined her lipsticked and mascaraed façade. But she looked at Aiden, wondering how he knew about her accident.

"I have no clue who you think abandoned me," Lydia bluffed, hope strengthening her spine. "But that _spaz_ as you call him," she curled her lip in distaste, giving Aiden an obvious once-over, "he is ten times the man you are."

Aiden's eyes darkened, and he stopped, pushing her against the hallway wall. Sometime between his taunt and her reply (while she was lost in her memories) they had made it to one of the wings of the hotel, doors to rooms lining a quiet hallway, plush couches and expensive paintings scattered every so often. As Aiden adjusted his grip, letting go of her left hand to grab her chin, forcing her to look up at him, she slowly used her thumb to loosen the ring on her finger.

Chancing a glance over Aiden's shoulder, Lydia saw that they had made it to the third floor (right across from room 311) and she was slightly concerned that she had lost at least three flights of stairs to her memories. But she forced herself to meet Aiden's cool gaze with her own, arching a perfect eyebrow.

He grinned sinisterly, "You think he wants you now, but after I'm done with you, he wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Forcing the panic back down, she knew he was wrong. Stiles didn't care how fucked up she was, and she was already so scarred, she was astonished she could pull herself together enough to walk into Cora Hale's party in a dress meant to seduce and tease. That she wasn't so broken that she could dance with Stiles and believe in new beginnings, that she could see love in golden eyes and want it to be for her, wanting to be worthy of it.

"Then I guess I'll have to kill you first," she responded, her voice cool and certain, and as she said them, Lydia knew once again that her words were the truth.

She would kill him before he could break her further, because while she was certain that Stiles would love her no matter what, she would not be worthy of that love if she didn't at least _try_ to escape the wolf holding her.

(Lydia needed to escape because she needed to tell Stiles to kiss her, to tell him that she wanted him, bloody hands and all.)

With a growl, Aiden hauled her bodily off the wall, continuing to drag her down the hall, but this time Lydia fought him.

Scratching at his arm, bludgeoning his chest with her fists, digging in her heels.

But he was so much stronger than her—it was like her nails did nothing, her fists bounced off him, her heels making tracks in the carpet—and he made it to their destination, stopping outside room 324. He reached into his pocket, his grip on her neck tightening so much that she started gasping for air.

"What the hell did you do?" He asked, looking at her with a cold fury.

Lydia couldn't help but smile, her own grin wolfish—she had no idea what Stiles had done but she couldn't let him know that. "Like I said...ten times the man you are."

Aiden clearly didn't like that very much, as he tossed her against the wall, and she was dazed for a moment, before he kicked the door in with a _crash_. (If she had a clear head she would've run, but she was a little distracted by the amount of strength necessary to kick open an electronically-locked door.)

Before she could gather enough of her wits about her to leave, Aiden had grabbed hold of her upper arm and was shoving her through the door. When he slammed the door closed once again, she felt her heart stop in time with it, realizing that she was truly alone, alone in a room with a mercenary with no moral compunctions that she could see.

The fear crept up her throat once again and she wanted to just _scream_ , but Lydia knew that that would not help her. Not if no one was looking for her.

Turning to face Aiden, Lydia raised her chin, making sure he knew she wasn't afraid of him.

" _Lydia!_ " A voice cried faintly, and if she hadn't seen Aiden twitch, she would've believed it had just been her memories bleeding into her reality.

(Had he come for her that night too?)

Relief spread throughout her, shining under her skin like sunlight breaking through clouds, her heart restarting, and her breath leaving her in one exhale. He hadn't abandoned her after all.

" _Stiles!_ " Lydia screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, two cliffhangers in a row isn't fair, but I had to end it here, the next chapter is literally double the size so if I tried to fit it all in one, this chapter would be absurdly long.
> 
> I hope you like the reveal of what happened to Lydia, the arrival of assassins!Maleo and poor sweet bodyguard!Isaac. Bonnie and Clyde!Maleo were so much fun and you'll get more legit Maleo next chapter, and I've been teasing the arrival of Isaac for a bit now, I hope this doesn't let you down. 
> 
> Also, Ethan's a good guy! Surprise! I know Aiden's a little OOC, but his role as a character just fit too well as the "asshole guy the femme fatale has to seduce" from like every heist and/or MI/Bond movie, so I just had fun with it.
> 
> Please leave a review or comment or kudos if you like this story, it's the lifeblood for fic writers!
> 
> Thank you, and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter Five: Throw Away the Plan (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of mystery, lots of romance, lots of action, and at the end of it all, the night (and the mission) is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, welcome to the massive chapter that is the finale of this story! It is literally twice the size of any other chapter, and there's still and epilogue to go after this. It gets a little dark in this chapter, but nothing too much worse than canon or spy movies in general.
> 
> This chapter is literally one of my favorite things I've written, I hope you enjoy!! (Hints: lots of relationships, so all the ships on the tag finally get their due)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, left a comment or kudos, I appreciate them all! It really makes me feel like I'm not just shouting into the void.
> 
> Dresses:
> 
> ([Allison](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/9b/52/1d9b520879890e93851757858ee28a36.jpg) in a plum color)
> 
> ([Cora](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/7c/b5/38/7cb538624b23669f70924023143e8a21.jpg) in dark red)
> 
> ([Lydia](https://157630.smushcdn.com/89221/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Paula-Patton-in-Mission-Impossible-Ghost-Protocol-e1334689968941.jpg?lossy=0&strip=1&webp=1) in dark blue)
> 
> ([Malia](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcTJCjHnw2rIMUWXx7tJ8nj21993qsf--HdCWA&usqp=CAU) but in like a sparkly, bronze/rose gold color)
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.
> 
> Enjoy!

" _Lydia!_ " Stiles shouted, his voice filled with desperation, as he burst out of the ballroom. He didn't care who heard him. In fact, maybe he would get lucky and someone that had seen where Aiden had taken Lydia would hear his yells.

At this point, he could not give less of a fuck about their cover or alerting Alpha Pack. They already knew they were here, they already had Lydia. What else could they do?

(Realistically, Stiles knew that the situation could get a hell of a lot worse, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight at the moment.)

He nearly gave himself whiplash as he whipped his head back and forth, trying to find _anything_ that could give him an idea of where they had gone. And it wasn't like he was lucky enough that they would still be within sight of the ballroom.

Forcing himself to kick the panic to the back of his mind, because there was no way he wasn't _not_ going to panic, he tried to refocus on the task at hand.

Emphasis on _tried_.

He couldn't help but remember the last time he was running through a hotel after Lydia, fear coursing through his veins instead of blood.

(Blood on his hands, on his shirt.)

(Blood staining her silvery-gold cocktail dress, blending in with her hair.)

(Her lips pale, her gorgeous eyes closed...maybe forever.)

In the two months since her "accident," he had never told her that he was there, that he saw her bleeding out on Peter Hale's hotel room floor. That he had called the ambulance and held her hand until it got there, trying not to tell her he loved her, because he couldn't say it to her dying body.

She deserved to hear the words when she had the chance to do something about it. To control her fate.

And he deserved to tell her when she could respond. When he could look into those green eyes and say those three little words that he'd held back since he saw her across the office, an unfinished Rubik's Cube in her hands, staring at her computer screen in concentration, strawberry blonde hair pulled over one shoulder, pink tongue sticking out slightly in the way that he now new meant she was deep in thought.

He kept his eyes in constant motion as he ran over to the staircase, figuring it was as good a place as any to start. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a crack under his foot.

Looking down, another round of panic turning his stomach into a tar pit, he saw a room key lying under his foot, broken clear down the middle. He leaned down, picking up the two halves, hoping that the universe wasn't trying to tell him something.

Like he was too late and Aiden had already gotten what he'd wanted from Lydia, and now Stiles was responsible for leaving her just like Jackson had. And if that was true, Stiles wouldn't know how to live with himself, as it was completely antithetical to his very being to hurt Lydia Martin.

But seeing the keycard set off something in his brain, and he sent a silent thank you to Danny for giving him Aiden's room key back. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the keycard, looking all over for the number.

324.

He gripped the room key tightly—he needed the pain to ground him, to focus him, because that was what he needed if he was going to save Lydia. He couldn't be her knight on a too slow horse, armor and fear weighing him down...not again.

Stiles flew up the stairs, uncaring that his chest was tight (although from desperation or shortness of breath, he couldn't be sure), adrenaline carrying him up three floors in record time. In fact, he couldn't help but wonder that if he had run like this in high school, he might have made first line for his lacrosse team.

When he reached the third floor, he doubled over, panting slightly, but he couldn't dwell on the pain of pushing his body to the limits. He probably was going to need to physically fight Aiden later, and figured he should conserve at least a little bit of energy for that.

The room number kept repeating in his head like a mantra.

_324._

Paintings flashed by and he didn't have the wherewithal to even act like a normal person, choosing instead to sprint through the hallway like a madman.

_324._

He didn't even know if she was going to be in the room. Danny and Ethan had said that Alpha Pack was taking Cora to the rooftop, so for all he knew, he was just wasting time on the third floor as Lydia was waiting for him to come to the roof.

_324._

What was that?

A strange flash of light caught his eye, and he had never been happier for his curiosity and short attention span than in that moment. Because any other person would have just kept going, would have focused on finding the room, especially not so close to it. But, he stopped, looking at a low couch against the opposite wall.

Stiles held his breath, walking closer slowly, each step a step closer to confirmation that he was on the right track, or a step closer to realizing that he had failed her again.

But he couldn't help the small smile that escaped him when he picked up Lydia's fake engagement ring. She had been here...he was on the right track after all.

Pocketing the ring, he couldn't help but call out again. " _Lydia!_ "

Even before the echo had faded, her reply struck him like lightning to the heart. She was close by; she was still alive.

" _Stiles!_ "

" _Lydia!_ " He called back, not even bothering to take the keycard out of his pocket as he reached room 324, instead, ramming his shoulder into the door.

The door flew open (so, he might have miscalculated how much force was needed), and Stiles ran into the room, his eyes flying to Lydia.

She was standing in the middle of the room, relief clear on her exquisite face, her hair mussed up and her cheeks looked bright, but the breather didn't last long, because before he had even sucked in a breath, there was a sharp pain in the back of his skull.

Stiles stumbled forward with a wince, turning to see Aiden's snarling face looking at him with the most loathing expression Stiles had ever seen on another human (except maybe when Sties himself laid eyes on Theo Raeken or if he ever saw Jackson fucking Whittemore again). With a grunt, Stiles heaved his entire body forward, tackling Aiden around the waist, somehow managing to knock him to the ground.

Vaguely, he heard Lydia exclaim in shock or surprise, but he didn't have time to think about it as Aiden was rolling them over, using his considerably higher muscle mass to put Stiles into a chokehold. Spluttering for breath, Stiles grabbed at the other man's tree trunk of an arm around his neck.

His vision went blurry, and he felt his face go red as he coughed and tried to suck a single molecule of air through to his lungs. (He would be glad if he died to save Lydia, but that wasn't the case now. He couldn't die and leave her in the same situation as she had started in: in danger and afraid.)

But, just as suddenly as the arm had encircled his throat, it was gone, air rushing into his lungs. He took huge, gulping breaths, coughing as the sweet air passed through his rough throat, on his hands and knees, useless.

Looking over his shoulder, he would grin if he was capable of doing anything but cough and breathe, as he saw Lydia wrapped around Aiden's upper body like a koala. Her bare legs were curved over his arms and disappeared behind his chest, effectively immobilizing the larger man. And while she didn't have Aiden's strength, she had wrapped her right forearm around his own throat, holding her wrist with her opposite hand, pulling tightly, choking sounds coming from the mercenary.

(It was definitely the hottest thing Stiles had ever seen.)

He could only watch in shock as Aiden stood up, staggering backwards, ramming Lydia's back into the bedpost, but she only winced. In fact, she appeared to redouble her efforts, tightening the chokehold.

"Stiles," Lydia ground out, not even with a clear intent, but it served to snap him out of his shock.

Pulling himself to his feet, he reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the pen. He stalked over to Aiden, holding the other man by the chin, roughly turning his ridiculously sharp jawline to the side, jabbing the syringe into his neck, and pushing the plunger (AKA the cap of the pen) all the way down.

The man's eyes rolled back into his head as the entire contents of the syringe poured into his bloodstream, the roofie doing its job, Stiles sidestepping as Aiden slumped forward, unconscious.

Lydia apparently had sensed the motion, and had unlocked her ankles, landing on her bare feet (when had she taken her shoes off) as she let go of Aiden's neck as he fell to the ground between her legs.

(Okay, _that_ totally took the prize for the hottest thing Stiles had ever seen. Badass, cool, and sexy...this woman was perfect.)

"Wow," he couldn't help but exhale, and he knew he was looking at her with the dopiest, most love-struck, awestruck expression on his face, but he couldn't care less.

He was surprised, however, when she looked up at him, and he realized how much shorter she was than him without heels on. Her eyes had that same soft look, hopeful and vulnerable, that they had after their dance so many hours ago. "You came back," she whispered, her voice impossibly gentle, like she hadn't expected him to.

"Of course I came for you," he replied, reaching out and grabbing her hand. And when she tangled their fingers together, Stiles took a deep breath. If there was my time to take a risk, now would be that time. "Again. I came back for you...again."

"What?" Lydia asked, her brows furrowing, but she didn't take her hand back and that gave him the confidence to continue.

"The IMF had gotten an anonymous tip that night," he started, forcing himself to hold her gaze, hoping the meaning was clear in his eyes. "I-I...I broke a shit ton of traffic laws getting to that hotel, but I still didn't get there in enough time, you were already..."

"Stiles," she interjected gently, bringing her other hand up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, "were you the one who found me?"

He nodded, and that was when he broke eye contact, unsure about how she would feel about someone having seen her in such a vulnerable state—but, to be fair, he had already seen her like that, the only change was telling her. And she was a woman who valued honesty from those around her.

She didn't say anything, just pulled him into a tight hug, one arm cradling the back of his head, her fingers combing through his hair in a soothing motion. Stiles let out a sigh of relief against her cheek as his free hand came up to mirror her action, gently cupping her head, her strawberry blonde hair silky against his calloused palm. There was a time he thought that the blood was literally staining his hands and he didn't want to mark her pale skin with that darkness within him, with the blood he had spilled. But now...he pushed himself to be worthy of her, so that if (by some miracle) she was showing him what she felt, he could accept her feelings with open arms and hold her when she needed him.

They stayed like that for probably longer than they should during a high-stakes mission, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Everything about the way Lydia fit against him felt right. (It felt like late night research sessions, like bickering across their workstations. It felt like a dance that was an oasis of peace before chaos arrived.)

"What happened to your cheek?" She murmured, pulling back, her thumb rubbing across his injured cheekbone lightly.

Her touch only sent sparks dancing across his skin, and he just smiled warmly, the smile he seemed to only give to her. He brought the hand that was holding hers up, giving her knuckles a delicate kiss. (It was the closest thing he thought he would get to kissing her for the foreseeable future.)

"There's a lot you missed out on," he grinned cheekily. Lydia gave him a dry look, rolling her eyes playfully, and it was clear that the conversation was not over, but she would drop it for the time being.

"Where's everyone else?" She asked, stepping back and out of his grip to grab her nude heels from where they had clearly been kicked off haphazardly.

Not bothering to put them on, holding them from one finger, Lydia grabbed his hand again, gazing up at him with an open look. He felt his heart stop and his breath seize in his lungs—her expression said that she trusted him (that she wanted him, but he wasn't thinking about that right now)—and when he tugged her gently, she went willingly, falling against his side easily.

"Like I said," he said, leading her out the door, tossing the stolen room key inside, "there's a lot we have to catch you up on." It wasn't like he felt bad about leaving Aiden passed out in the room, let Alpha Pack figure that one out. "Malia and Theo are here."

"Are you serious? Why the hell are you here, then? Theo..." Lydia started, her voice rising frantically, and Stiles was suddenly aware that she must know his history with the assassins.

"It's okay, we worked out a deal," Stiles assured her. "But there's a twenty million dollar price tag on Cora Hale's head, so we should probably get going."

Lydia rolled her eyes again, affection written in every line of her face. "Lead with that next time."

" _Next time?_ "

* * *

The odd trio of Scott, Allison, and Isaac was quiet as they climbed up the back stairway. They were all trying not to run and waste energy, but Scott knew they were each feeling the pressure to get to the roof before the unthinkable happened.

Isaac was in the lead, not only because his stride was probably twice the length of Scott and Allison's, but because he was wringing his hands, his entire body tense, his pace decidedly quicker than the other two. As desperate as the two agents were to find Cora, Scott had a feeling that the bodyguard wanted to get to the roof even more than they did.

"So, Isaac," Allison began carefully, her tone casual but when Scott looked at her, her dark eyes were calculating, "why are you helping us?"

"It's complicated," Isaac shot back, his words clipped, anxiety clear from the _everything_ about him.

And as much as Scott wanted to tell him to uncomplicate it, they were on a tight schedule. Plus, he didn't think that Isaac was going to turn on them, not if they were helping Cora. Besides, it was taking forever to get to the roof—there had to be a faster way.

"Do you know anything about the hotel?" Scott asked to Isaac. "We need a shortcut if we're going to have any chance to make it to the roof in time to stop Alpha Pack."

The bodyguard turned around, looking terrified, but he nodded slowly. "If we get closer to the penthouse, I've got a back way to the roof. But not here, we're too far away."

Allison glanced at Scott, both of them clearly picking up on the despondent nature of his last phrase. He shrugged, because he wasn't Stiles, he hadn't memorized the entire layout of the hotel, so he figured they were just going to have to trust Isaac.

"Then, let's hurry up," Scott said with finality. The trio redoubled their efforts, the boys taking the stairs in threes, Allison managing to keep up even in her high heels (and Scott tried not to think about how attractive it was, Allison sprinting up the stairs in her gorgeous dress, not even breaking a sweat).

It seemed like they were just running in circles, whipping around the landings, using the railings to propel themselves forward. Scott tried not to get dizzy, focusing his attention on the floor numbers every time they even so much as paused at a landing.

Finally, they reached the sixtieth floor, and Scott was really glad that IMF put all their agents through rigorous strength and endurance training, especially those looking to become field agents. Because he knew that if he tried to run up sixty flights of stairs when he was seventeen, he would've passed out from an asthma attack forty floors ago. Putting his hands on his knees, Scott sucked in breath after deep breath, his mind clearing as air expanded his chest.

Isaac didn't stop, however, running for the door leading out to the hotel proper, but stopped immediately as the door didn't budge.

"Shit," Isaac cursed, ramming his shoulder into the door again, trying the handle, swearing when the door didn't open. "Why. Won't. It. Fucking. Open?"

"Hey, it's okay," Allison soothed, putting a hand on Isaac's shoulder to stop him from dislocating it, shooting Scott a worried look.

"No," the bodyguard retorted through gritted teeth. "It's not. Cora is up there, with bloodthirsty mercenaries who want to _kill her_ and you guys are doing _nothing_!" He punched the door to punctuate his words, immediately grimacing and cradling his wrist with his other hand. "Shit that really hurt."

"We're not doing nothing," Scott replied, trying to keep his voice even. He knew he would go around punching solid objects if Allison had been the one taken to the roof to be killed by a crazed terrorist group. "Look, Stiles taught me how to pick a lock a couple years ago, I can try and get the door open, okay?"

Isaac nodded, his eyes downcast, looking like the picture of dejection. Allison gently moved him to the side, giving Scott a curious look, like she was wondering if he was serious about knowing how to pick a lock.

"Do you have a bobby pin or something?" He asked lowly. With a nod, Allison fiddled with her hair for a minute, before emerging with a skinny bobby pin. "Thanks," he took the metal object, crouching down at the door handle.

It took him way more than a few tries—he was definitely not as experienced or as comfortable as Stiles was at all the underhanded stuff—and he could literally feel Isaac pacing behind him, anxiety radiating from the bodyguard. But, Scott eventually heard the quiet _click_ of the mechanism coming unlocked.

With a sigh of relief, Scott stood up, turning the handle and opening the door. Isaac pushed past him, running through the door desperately (Scott was certain that if he could hear the other man's heartbeat, it would probably be wildly out of control), calling out for Cora.

"Cora! _Cora_!" Isaac shouted, his voice nearly breaking as he turned his head every which way.

"Isaac!" Scott exclaimed, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder to calm him down (or at least in an attempt to do that). "You said there was a shortcut up to the roof, right?" Isaac nodded, appearing to relax slightly. "Okay...can you show us?"

"This way," Isaac said, his voice suddenly deadly serious, no longer sounding like a boy scared out of his mind about a girl, but a man going to destroy whoever had hurt the woman he loved.

Allison gave Scott a small smile as the two agents followed after Isaac. There was only one door in the hallway, clearly the penthouse suite, and Isaac didn't even stop, pulling a keycard out of his pocket and swiping it in one motion. The door unlocked easily, and Isaac went through without hesitation, a man on a mission.

Scott followed immediately, wanting to motion for Allison to stay behind him, but he could imagine the look she would give him and figured he liked his ego technically intact.

He didn't have time to stop and admire the luxurious penthouse (which was easily twice the size of his apartment) no matter how much he wanted to, having grown up in a tiny town in California, raised by his single mom, this kind of wealth was a total unknown quantity to him. Following Isaac to the bedroom, he shared a look with Allison, both of them having suspected that there might be more to the relationship between the bodyguard and the heiress, but hadn't really expected the confirmation.

Pausing in the doorway, Scott watched as Isaac strode over to the closet, raising his eyebrows as Isaac pulled something, hidden by dresses and coats, and the entire back wall of the closet swung open, revealing a dark hallway.

"This way," Isaac said, jerking his head towards the hallway, Allison and Scott were frozen, giving him twin looks of disbelief. "What?"

Scott and Allison just kept staring at him until Isaac rolled his eyes, motioning to the doorway with an exaggerated nod of his head, before dropping it to his chest, leaning it against the doorframe.

"Okay, look," Isaac shook his head, "I said it was complicated. We, we were..."

"Sleeping together?" Allison supplied, biting her lip to keep the grin off her face. (Her mischievous face was way too cute.)

And the redness that turned the man's face into a tomato was all the answer Scott needed.

"Let's go," Scott said, leading the way down the dark hallway. Thankfully, it wasn't the musty, damp back staircase Scott had been expecting, but it was just another dimly lit, concrete stairwell exactly like the one they had climbed to reach the penthouse.

Then, it was another tense trek to the roof, although shorter than the one to the sixtieth floor, but this time, the trio was gearing up for a fight. It was only a few flights before they were standing in front of a door marked "Roof Access." Whatever fight had possessed Isaac was gone and he reached for the handle with shaking hands.

"Let us go first," Scott told him gently, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder to maneuver him out of the way. Because while Isaac might be trained and used to protecting the Hales, he had no experience with the kind of violence and destruction that came with Alpha Pack. "We'll handle whoever is up there...you focus on getting Cora out of danger. Got it?"

With a nod, Isaac straightened up, his eyes hard, and Scott looked back at Allison, and had to stop his mouth from dropping open in shock as he pulled the weird chopstick-looking things out of her hair. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders, and she had two thin blades in her hands.

(He might have fallen just a little bit harder for her in that moment.)

She just winked at him, a soft smile on her lips, before she refocused, steel dropping over her expression as Scott opened the door.

Scott burst onto the roof (really wishing he had brought his gun, but they were supposed to be undercover and all that), his eyes widening as he saw Ennis wrestling someone closer to the edge of the roof. Deucalion was standing just off to the side, like he was watching a play, and opposite him, closest to the door, was Kali, the last member of Alpha Pack.

They hadn't even known she was here—which was concerning in more ways than one—and without a second thought, Scott charged forward.

He heard Allison shout after him, but he was focused on dragging Ennis away from the edge.

"Isaac!" Cora cried out, and he watched as the heiress stomped on the mercenary's foot with enough force to cause the man to flinch and loosen his hold minutely.

The blond bodyguard somehow managed to outpace Scott, pulling the girl into his arms, practically tackling her to the ground.

A sharp pain stabbed through his leg, and Scott went down to one knee. Looking down, he saw blood dripping from his calf...and a long pole sticking out of his leg.

As the pole was yanked out, Scott yelled out in pain. Following the motion, Scott saw Deucalion idly cleaning off the end of his cane, a blade extending from the end.

(Stiles was so not going to let it go that he was right...Deucalion was definitely not as blind as they had previously thought.)

"I had assumed the Hales had contacted someone to protect their precious daughter," Deucalion said casually, a slight British accent coloring his tone. "But I hadn't expected they'd send the teenaged Super Friends."

Before Scott could reply, arms encircled his torso, picking him up off the ground and squeezing the air out of his lungs. He heard the sounds of Kali and Allison fighting, Isaac's voice quiet but frantic as he tried to get Cora back inside the building. He gritted his teeth, kicking his legs out and wrapping them around Deucalion's neck. With a jerk of his body that was probably less graceful than he wanted, he used his legs to toss Deucalion to the side, and then following his momentum, he flipped forward, landing on his back with Ennis slamming into the rooftop beneath him.

Scrambling to his feet, Scott punched Ennis in the face with all his strength the big man's head rolling back, looking dazed. A quick scan showed that Allison was holding Kali by the hair, a knife at her throat, Isaac standing in front of Cora protectively, slowly backing them up towards the door.

He met Allison's eye over Deucalion's shoulder, and she nodded once. Twisting to the left, Allison jabbed the blade under Kali's ribs, the mercenary falling to the ground, clutching her side.

"I'm impressed," Deucalion said, walking closer, drawing Scott's attention. "You have a lot more... _moxie_ than I expected."

The head of Alpha Pack turned faster than seemed humanly possible, grabbing Allison by her throat, lifting her in the air like she weighed nothing, her blades clattering to the ground in surprise. Scott didn't have time to wonder about the how or the why Deucalion was so freakishly strong, instinct spurring him into action.

It was the simplest solution, but Scott just wrapped an arm around Deucalion's throat and _squeezed_. Allison dropped to the ground in a heap, coughing lightly. And Deucalion might be secretly 'roided out, but he was caught off-guard, and his struggling barely registered, getting weaker and weaker as Scott slowly lowered him to the ground.

It was only another couple seconds, but then the rooftop was quiet, blood ringing in Scott's ears as he looked around once more. The fight had been short, but all three Alpha Pack members were unconscious on the roof, blood leaking from Kali's side, Deucalion's cane lying just out of his reach.

"Don't you think we should...you know..." Isaac trailed off, making the universal motion for killing someone, running a finger across his throat, his other arm still holding Cora back, her two hands wrapped around the arm.

"No," Scott said firmly. The mission hadn't been to take down Alpha Pack, if it had been, Deaton would have told him. But, as it stood, the IMF clearly didn't want the group gone yet, and as much as that grated on his nerves, going against the very core of his being, he didn't want to jeopardize the mission further by giving into rage.

Allison, Isaac, _and Cora_ were giving him confused looks, but he just looked right at Allison. "Alpha Pack wasn't the mission," he whispered, and she bit her lip, taking a step forward.

Scott's breath caught in his throat, his eyes flickering down to her lips for the briefest of instances before meeting her brown-eyed gaze again. He opened his mouth to say something (maybe to ask if she was okay, or what she was doing), but soft lips met his own before he could get the words out.

* * *

"What'd you say to Stilinski?" Malia asked, side-eyeing her boyfriend, genuinely curious about what he had done to make the agent hit Theo so hard, his nose was potentially broken.

"What makes you assume _I_ started it?" Theo grinned, putting his free hand on his chest, his blue eyes wide but glinting with the tricky light Malia knew so well.

She rolled her eyes, unable to keep the smile off her lips, however. "Because sometimes you say shit that is going to get your gorgeous face punched," she replied bluntly.

"Maybe..." Theo lowered his lips, kissing along the outer shell of her ear. (And Malia had to focus on not closing her eyes, tilting her head back, and moaning because his lips were on her neck, his hand on her hip, sliding down minutely to rest on the bare skin high, _very high_ , on her thigh that was exposed by her dress.) "But girls always like guys with blood on their lips."

Unable to take his teasing any longer, Malia stopped in the middle of the ballroom, turning to grab his cheeks in her hands, crashing their lips together none too gently. Theo responded immediately, his lips moving over hers roughly, her teeth scraping at his bottom lip, his tongue delving into her mouth. She could taste his blood on her tongue and it was sweet. His hand tightened on her thigh, moving to grip the fleshy back of her thigh (practically her ass) and she arched her back at the contact, letting out a noise crossed between a growl and a moan.

Digging her long nails into his stubbled cheeks in retaliation, Malia grinned at the hiss-groan that came from Theo.

Sure, they might be in the middle of some pointless rich girl's party, but Malia was not easily embarrassed, and Theo sometimes had even less shame, once going down on her in the middle of receiving an assignment (it was just a phone call from the client), but she had gotten back at him by giving him a handjob at dinner with his parents the next night.

And, if Malia was honest, if her crazy bitch of a mother wasn't at this party, she would drag Theo to the edge of the dance floor, maybe behind a giant marble column, and fuck him until she forgot her name.

But, as it stood, her crazy bitch of a mother _was_ at this party, and when Malia was fifteen, she vowed that if she was ever in the same place as Corrine again, she would be the one to kill her.

Pulling back regretfully, Malia caught her breath, her chest heaving, her stomach twisting and her skin burning in a way that only Theo seemed to pull from her. Even after being partners for nine years, eight years of fucking, and two years of dating, he still set her insides on fire like he had the first day she had laid eyes on her.

(The pouring rain plastering his black t-shirt to his ridiculously built chest, his dark blond hair turning even darker, his eyes cool, and smirking like he knew _exactly_ what it did to her.)

(Smug and deadly and arrogant and dangerous and so fucking sexy.)

And she knew by the way he looked at her when she showed him this dress for the first time—a bare back with cutouts that curved around her ribs in a half circle; a slit that was really just the end of the fabric, held together by the band at her waist; a twist of a one-shoulder, knotted high on her back—and how they made out in the back of the limousine here, that he was just as in lust with her as she was with him.

Okay, they did more than make out, like _way_ more.

(And they were in more than lust, but they were both so fucked up that emotions were not something they liked to deal with. Their job didn't have a high life expectancy anyways, and soon enough the hunters would become the hunted.)

(Maybe on that day Malia would finally be able to admit, to herself, to Theo, that she was in the other L word with him.)

"What are we supposed to be doing again?" Theo joked, taking the initiative, and pulled back fully, turning so that he was next to her, his eyes scanning the party.

She grinned ferally, knowing that his blood was smeared on her lips like lipstick, and judging by the look in his eye, she was in for a sleepless night once this was over. It was easy to spot Corrine in the crowd, the older woman not even trying to hide, sipping on a Cosmopolitan at the bar. "We're fucking killing my mom," she replied, not bothering to keep the glee out of her tone.

She had been waiting for this chance since the sorry excuse for a parent told her that Kylie was holding her back, put a gun in a fourteen-year-old girl's hand and told her to shoot.

And she had never been the same since she'd seen her eight-year-old sister's brain splattered on the carpet. Blood on her hands that she was never going to wash out, so why not soak herself in it? Become so deadly and feral and savage she was called the Coyote? (She would sneak up to her victims, coyotes tiptoeing through the forest, until unleashing the death blow, by gun or knife or even by her own bare hands more than a few times.)

Theo just growled out his agreement (and what better pair for the Coyote than the Chimera, an experiment in violence and anger and evil?), his hand going back to her waist, squeezing tightly, before releasing.

She stalked towards the bar, unclasping her bracelets before repositioning them over her knuckles, transforming the jewelry into brass knuckles. Well, if brass knuckles had deadly two-inch spikes protruding from each knuckle.

Corrine turned, almost like she sense Malia coming, not surprised in the least to see her only child coming at her, armed and _very pissed off_. The word "murderous" came to mind.

As she reached the bar, grabbing Corrine by the hair, Malia knew Theo was right behind her, letting her fight her own battles, but she knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot her mother if it came to it.

There was a sharp gasp from the crowd at Malia's action, Corrine not taking it well, lashing out with her hands, raking her own nails across Malia's forearms, one even catching her on the neck, and she felt hot blood bloom, staining her skin, dripping onto her dress.

"This dress cost a fortune, _Mom_." Malia spat the moniker like a curse, dragging the woman out of her seat and over to another staff entrance. She had to thank the paranoid Hales and all their hidden doors and back hallways, they really were useful for an assassin trying to kill her mother in peace.

Distantly, Malia heard the door shut behind her, thanking Theo for having the presence of mind to at least make sure they weren't easily followed. She didn't even bother to check if the hallway was empty before punching Corrine right across the face, the spiked knuckles making a wet ripping sound as she tore the flesh of her cheek.

Her mother spit blood to the side, elbowing Malia in the side, right above her kidneys, pain searing through her body as she let go with a sharp yell. That was all the opening Corrine needed to kick out, a sharp heel rocketing towards Malia's face, but the latter managed to dodge, bending over backwards, using her momentum to extend her arms back, propelling herself off the floor. Her own heels came up to catch Corrine in the chest, one right after the other. And she caught herself on her hands, cartwheeling over so she landed on her feet, facing the other woman.

Flipping her short hair out of her eyes, she raised her fists, cocking an eyebrow, daring Corrine to attack her. She didn't want to make this easy, her mother didn't deserve a quick, easy death. She deserved to suffer like Kylie had, like _Malia_ had in the years afterwards.

"Is that any way to treat your mother, _sweetie_?" Corrine asked, sneering. Malia knew the woman held no affection for her daughter, just for the weapon she had molded her into.

She gritted her teeth and growled, a guttural sound that came from deep inside her, lunging forward, bringing her right fist back and sending it flying towards Corrine's face, but the other woman just blocked her punch with her arm. Parrying an elbow to Malia's face, Corrine grimaced, and Malia returned with a punch to the woman's stomach.

With her lips still bloody from Theo's kiss and her eyes slightly crazed, she grinned as she saw the silk of Corrine's dress ripped and blood-stained.

Corrine leapt up, swinging her body around Malia, looping her legs around the latter's neck, tossing both women to the floor. Grimacing as her back came into contact with the hard tile, Malia grabbed her knife from its thigh holster, stabbing it into Corrine's thigh and twisting.

With a cry, her legs opened and Malia scrambled out, quickly parrying the other woman's weak attacks, crawling over to pin her to the ground, straddling her waist.

Without hesitation, Malia rained blow after blow on her mother's face, hearing flesh and bone rending under her fists. All she could see was Kylie's innocent face and blonde hair matted with blood, a hole in her head. She felt the blood splashing back onto her, and she really was upset about ruining her dress, but this moment was ten years coming and she was going to get her revenge.

Her mother's chest was still moving weakly, rattled breaths exhaling from her mouth. "Why?" Corrine croaked.

" _Why_?" Malia roared, holding Corrine's neck in one hand, the other pulled back in a fist. She dropped it however, snatching up her knife (a long thin blade, wickedly sharp, that Theo had gotten her for their anniversary last year) from where it had fallen. " _Kylie_. That's why."

She plunged the knife into her mother's side without waiting to hear whatever pathetic excuse she had to say. The life draining out of her mother's eyes gave her a rush of power, knowing that she had fought the woman who had made her (in more ways than one) and had won.

Maybe now, Kylie might forgive her.

"Malia..." Theo said, more gently than they had ever spoken to each other, sex included, and she jumped off her mother's body, turning, and flying into her boyfriend's arms.

He caught her without hesitation, his arms gripping her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, the force of her jump slamming them into a wall, her lips descending on his hungrily. Teeth scraped her bottom lip deliciously, arousal and relief and pain pouring from the both of them. Her hands tearing at his suit jacket, needing to touch him, to feel his warm skin beneath her palms (to feel him inside her), she moaned at the sensation. Blood and salty tears she didn't realize she was shedding mixed with the whiskey he'd had in the car and the bourbon she'd stolen from Scott McCall what seemed like a lifetime ago.

(And in some ways it was.)

She felt something hard pressing against her leg, and that was when Malia knew she had to pull back, or else they were going to fuck two feet from her mother's corpse, and she didn't think they were _quite_ that level of fucked up yet.

"Get me the fuck out of here, Raeken," Malia growled, trailing her lips down, biting and sucking at his neck, a thrill shooting through her at his groan.

"Whatever you want, Tate," Theo replied, setting her down.

The two assassins sprinted down the hallway, hand-in-hand, not caring that Malia's face was streaked with blood, Theo's nose and lips bright red. They would keep their deal with Scott and Stiles, they didn't need the twenty million or the Hale Diamond. What Malia needed was her boyfriend, preferably naked and underneath her, because she had just killed her mother and maybe now that meant they were _free_.

As free as two assassins could be. Free from the last vestiges of their past. Free from the people they used to be before they met each other.

(After all, who was a better match for a girl who had killed her own sister than a boy who had done just the same?)

* * *

Danny sighed in defeat, hanging his head as shouts sounded from the crowd. Clearly, Malia and Theo were not being subtle in their pursuit of the Desert Wolf, he just hoped that their disruption wouldn't spill over and draw attention to the IMF agents.

Sharing an exhausted look with Ethan—this night was lasting for years and he didn't even know if it was close to being over—he couldn't help but sigh, giving into a moment of fear. Almost his entire team was on their own missions (Allison and Scott on the roof, Stiles off to find Lydia) and Lydia had been missing for close to an hour. And when the last person she was seen with was a deadly mercenary...it didn't bode well for her. Especially, since that mercenary was the twin of the man Danny was left alone with.

But Danny forced himself to scan his pages of camera feeds, looking for a strawberry blonde in a dark blue dress or a messy-haired man running around like a chicken with his head cut off. (Nothing yet.)

And with his team scattered to places without security cameras, there wasn't much Danny could do except scan the feeds uselessly, trying to see if there was anything they had missed.

A heavy, but comforting weight landed on his shoulder, and his hand snapped up, the frantic edge in his eyes dulling as he saw Ethan looking at him with clear blue eyes. (God, he really was too handsome for his own good, it was unfair. And Danny knew he was good-looking himself, but the mercenary turned maybe-ally looked like he had stepped off the cover of GQ without even trying.)

"Please don't say everything's going to be okay," Danny said, a bit of his usual snark in his tone. "Because there's no way to know that. And I am just stuck _here_ with a fucking _clipboard_ of all things!" He took a deep breath, his words running together, and he had definitely been spending too much time around Stiles if he was starting to ramble like the other man.

"I wasn't going to," Ethan shrugged, "it's probably still going to get worse and there's not a whole you... _either of us_ can do at this point."

"Thanks for the reassurance," the tech deadpanned with a roll of his eyes, the corner of his lips turning up just slightly. He _really_ didn't want to give him the satisfaction that that was exactly what Danny needed in the moment.

"But you already did something pretty incredible," Ethan continued, his entire face transforming into something fierce and hopeful and so certain of the words he was saying it took his breath away for a moment. "You got _me_."

Normally, Danny would blush at the phrasing, but he was too shocked at the way Ethan was looking at him (like he was good and brave and someone worth turning his back on his entire world for) to react.

"You got me to realize that there was another way," he said simply, the former-mercenary grinned sadly, probably thinking about the twin he was leaving behind. "And that wasn't an easy thing to do. You know...I wasn't, I hadn't totally decided what I was going to do until I walked into the control room and saw you."

Danny didn't want to think about how close he had come to dying earlier that night, by the very man he was (had been) falling for. But, he believed the other man now, that he wasn't going to turn. They were in this for the long game now.

(Or at least he hoped so.)

"I know I don't have the right to ask this of you right now, but...can you trust me?" Ethan's voice was desperate, like whatever Danny's answer was had the power to break the stronger man.

It was a terrifying power to have, and to know that Ethan had the exact same influence over him as well (if he told Danny that their best chance was to run right now, steal a car, and never look back...well, he might not say yes right away, but he would seriously consider it). And the even scarier fact was that Danny did trust him.

It was just a gut feeling, some unconscious thought or emotion telling him to trust Ethan—with his team, with his life—and he didn't want to fight that instinct.

"I do trust you," Danny replied, his voice firm as he stared Ethan dead in the eyes, hoping the other man could see all the thoughts in his mind.

With a sigh of relief and a broad smile, one that made Ethan look younger, the other man leaned forward, his hands on Danny's cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss.

Closing his eyes, Danny returned the kiss immediately, lips sliding over each other gently, almost sweetly, and Danny knew that he could get used to this. He was already getting used to having the other man's touch in his life disturbingly quickly.

But he was done worrying over every way the mission could go wrong. Likely, it always would, this one in particular was already so far gone it was pointless to try and plan for every contingency. It would do his team more good if he could be proactive, and react to the next way the mission would go off the rails as quickly as he could.

Pulling back from the kiss, feeling bolder than before, Danny grabbed Ethan's hand, giving it a tight squeeze, before turning his head and scanning the crowd.

His eyes brightened when he saw who he was looking for, pulling on Ethan's hand, leading him towards the entrance to the lobby from the ballroom. "Come on, there's a disgraced older brother we need to talk to."

"Huh?" Ethan's face was the absolute physical reaction of the "??" sentiment, and if they weren't on an extremely high-stakes mission, Danny would laugh at the expression.

"Derek Hale," Danny said—both as an explanation and as a way of announcing their presence to the older man.

The dark-haired man turned around, distrust in his icy eyes and he looked both men up and down, crossing his arms. His entire body looked tense, the muscle in his jaw jumped, and his gaze was a little _too steady_. Like he was trying very hard not to look away.

"Can I help you?" Derek asked calmly, but with an edge in his voice. He clearly knew that they weren't well-wishers. It was two degrees of coldness from being, " _what do you want_?"

"Do you know where your sister is?" He replied firmly, and the other man's eyes flickered with something, and he heard Ethan suck in a gasp behind him. But he kept his eyes on Derek, making sure the meaning was clear there.

"It's her birthday," Derek ground out, almost forcing the words out, "there's lots of people who want to congratulate her."

"Yeah, but what about the ones who don't?" He had to choose his words carefully, not wanting to piss off the son (albeit disowned) of one of the most famous families in the country. And if he was wrong...it would not be ending well for Danny.

Derek gritted his teeth, Danny could practically hear his teeth grinding together, but he remained calm, Ethan's palm an anchor.

"Lahey wouldn't let anything happen to her," Derek said, but it was more to keep up appearances than anything else, the fear clear in his eyes, the way his fists were tightening against his arms. "She has bodyguards."

Danny took a deep breath, steadying his heart and steeling himself because the next three words were either going to be the biggest mistake of his life or what got him the information he needed.

"Just like Laura?"

The calm façade dropped, Derek looking like he just got sucker-punched, his mouth opening and his eyes wide, the fear now clearly visible, panic edging the corners of his entire form.

"What happened to Laura was an accident," Derek growled, and Danny believed him. There was nothing that indicated that Laura was anything other than a tortured heiress who couldn't see a way out of her family—maybe she didn't like the spotlight, maybe the pressure from the media or her aunts and uncles that told her she was the matriarch of the entire Hale empire at twenty-one—except to take her own life, jumping off the roof of the building that should have been her legacy.

"But Cora won't be," Ethan interjected gently, not a question but a statement, an assurance.

Danny couldn't help but feel a lightness in him, seeing the man who, just a few hours ago was part of a group trying to murder Cora Hale, and now he was telling her older brother that she was going to be okay. He felt pity for the older man—there was nothing he could have done for his older sister, and now his younger one was in danger.

Derek's gaze wavered for the first time, looking from Danny to Ethan, sizing them up once again, before turning back to Danny and lowering his voice. "None of these stiffs have noticed she's gone yet, but that's not going to last very long. Please tell me you know _something_."

Although a weight looked like it had been lifted off Derek's chest, Ethan and Danny exchanged looks, both knowing that there was no good news to tell the other man. Scott and Allison hadn't checked in since they left for the roof a half hour ago. And while Danny wanted to believe that the agents would come out on top, with Ennis _and_ Deucalion on the roof, he hoped the addition of Lahey would help them even the odds.

"I don't know," Danny confessed, his heart sinking at the words. He wished he could give the other man some comfort, but he had to keep his tone flat and professional. "Lahey is with...my friends though."

Surprisingly, Derek raised his eyebrows, almost looking _relieved_ at that. Based on the way the bodyguard had been so desperate to find Cora—the shakiness in his voice, the way his eyes looked broken and scared (but not for himself)—Danny would put good money on the blond bodyguard and the dark-haired heiress having feelings for one another. And Derek seemed like the overprotective big brother type, not quite like he would accept whoever was seeing his sister without copious amounts of intimidation.

Although, if someone who cared about Cora was trying to find her, it might give Derek the peace of mind that there was someone strong and determined that wasn't going to stop until she was safe.

" _I have Lydia_ ," Stiles' relieved voice cut through his thoughts, and Danny sighed in relief. " _Danny, we're heading to you now_."

The strawberry blonde was quickly becoming like a sister to him, so he was glad that she was safe and based on the way that Stiles actually sounded calm, she was likely unharmed.

"It looks like more friends of ours are on their way," Danny finally grinned, maybe things were starting to look up after all.

"Anyone that can help us?" Derek retorted, and Danny had to suppress a chuckle—he could not wait to see the interaction between hyperactive Stiles and stoic Derek Hale. He figured they would either get along immediately or annoy each other to death...it was a toss up.

"They can help us figure out how we're going to get you and your sister out of here safely," Danny promised. Because if there were any two people who could figure out how to sneak the birthday girl and her infamous older brother out of her own party without being seen, it was Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin.

And as he was reassuring Derek, he saw a glimpse of blue and red in the lobby. Not wanting to get his hopes up, he craned his neck to get a better look, grinning as he saw the two sprinting down the stairs.

Lydia's heels were in her hands, a sure sign that a fight had certainly gone down because she didn't fight in stilettos unless she had to, but the fact that she was still holding them meant she was comfortable enough to lose a bit of her armor for the time being. Stiles was looking just as disheveled as could be expected, hair a mess and face flushed (and if he didn't know that they were IMF agents, Danny would guess they were a couple stumbling back from their room, afterglow abound), but his eyes were bright as he caught sight of the odd trio of Danny, Ethan, and Derek.

He turned to look down at the woman by his side, and Danny's gaze was drawn to where their hands were intertwined. Full-on, fingers interlaced, palm-to-palm, barely an inch of space between their forearms, intertwined.

(Oh he was _so_ winning that bet with Mason.)

* * *

If you asked Allison Argent what she was thinking when she first kissed Scott McCall, even hours, days, weeks, months later, she wouldn't have been able to give an answer.

She just remembered looking at him—his dark hair a mess, tanned skin flushed from the fight with Alpha Pack, eyes determined, shadows playing across his adorably crooked jaw—as he told them that they weren't going to kill the mercenaries, and knew that she wanted to kiss him.

And so she did.

Allison walked right over, cupped his face gently in one palm, and pressed her lips to his sweetly, but firmly.

Her stomach soared when he responded immediately, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost herself to the sensation of _finally_. (Sure it had only been a week, but there was something about _them_ that was undeniable.)

(Something like fate, though Allison didn't believe in it.)

His arm curved lightly around her waist, pulling her closer but ever so gently, until her free hand landed on his chest. She couldn't help but feel a spike of fireworks as her palm ran over his muscular pec (vaguely, she wanted to imagine what she looked like without the barrier of clothes, but then he sighed against her lips and she forgot anything else) before looping around his shoulder loosely.

The kiss didn't so much end, as they drifted away, lips brushing against each other—not quite enough to qualify as kisses—with every breath until their foreheads were resting together. She was a little cross-eyed and felt a blush rising in her cheeks as she couldn't keep the satisfied grin off her lips. But then she looked at Scott, and he looked just as flustered, a heat apparent in his bronze cheeks, and he kept rolling his lips together, like he was trying to keep the feeling of the kiss there.

"Wow," he breathed out shakily, a wide smile turning his face boyish.

Allison giggled, pulling back slightly to look at him, her thumb running absentmindedly across his cheekbone. "Wow yourself," she responded, happiness sparkling in her eyes and filling her voice.

When she left France, left her family, Allison was looking to find herself. She couldn't stand being part of Gerard's operation any further, seeing the way he treated civilian casualties with a cruelty that was evil in its intent and disregard for human life. And that wasn't even factoring in the callousness he held for his _agents'_ lives, even when those agents were his own flesh and blood.

The need to get as far away from her grandfather as she could, as well as the need to discover her own path because she certainly didn't want to continue down the road she was on, brought her all the way across the ocean and right into Scott's arms.

She hadn't been looking for a boyfriend, she had meant to hold off on dating until she could get settled. But she had looked into Scott McCall's eyes as she stepped off the elevator her first day at IMF and she started to fall, and then he handed her a pen and she knew she was a goner.

(And just because she wanted Scott to hold her and sometimes felt like she couldn't _breathe_ when they had been apart earlier tonight, didn't mean that she wasn't tough or strong or capable.)

Moving both of her hands up to cup the sides of his neck and his own hand came up to brush a curl of dark hair out of her eyes, Allison wondered if he was what she had been looking for.

Because when he looked at her with that earnest gaze full of awe, she felt like she could take on the world. That she could protect her team, not only because she was a warrior at heart, but because he believed and trusted that she could. He saw her calloused palms and muscles, and her hair that was in princess curls more often than not, and her dimples, and accepted the contradiction.

They stayed like that, just breathing in each other's presence, for a moment longer, before Isaac was clearing his throat, yanking them out of their bubble.

"Uhm, I hate to interrupt," the bodyguard said, a hand running through his curls as he looked at Cora sheepishly, his neck and face turning red, "but if we're not going to...get rid of these guys, I don't think we should be around when they wake up."

It was Allison's turn to blush, stepping backward, her arms sliding off of Scott's shoulders, but as they were falling back to her sides, he grabbed her hand. With a shared grin, Allison intertwined their fingers, looking at Isaac and Cora, forcing an expectant expression on her face.

"Well," she said with a raise of her eyebrows, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. "What are we all standing around here for?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott bite his lip to keep from chuckling, and now that her focus was there, all she wanted to do was kiss him again, but she kept her attention on the two other people on the roof. Isaac did have a good point, they had only incapacitated Alpha Pack after all. And when they woke up, they were going to be pissed and (more than likely) looking for retaliation.

Isaac stuttered out half-formed words before trailing off into dry laughter, and when he looked at Cora again, the heiress was looking at him with an expression that was nothing short of devoted.

The Hale Diamond shone faintly in the moonlight, the triskelion pattern almost looking like rivers of molten silver in the facets of the stone as Cora and Isaac made their way towards the door, the latter's hand on the girl's back protectively.

Allison had to admit it was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, perfectly suited to the young woman in front of her. And it didn't seem like just in looks—from the knowing glint in her dark eyes as she looked between Allison and Scott, to the way she had stomped on Ennis' foot to free herself to the way she seemed to positively melt at Isaac's gaze—the heiress seemed as hard and beautiful as the Diamond itself.

(When this was all over, she was so planning on getting drinks with Cora and Lydia.)

Scott bent to pick up Deucalion's cane, holding it in his hand, a contemplative look on his face. "Should we take this?" He asked, looking to Allison and she was a bit taken aback, being asked her opinion about a mission.

(She should have learned by now that Scott McCall was nothing like Gerard, or any other head agent she knew, but she was still adjusting to the idea.)

"Only to dump it," she replied carefully. "There could be a tracker in it, and we definitely don't want to lead Alpha Pack to us."

With a nod, Scott tucked the cane under his arm, taking Allison's hand once again, and they followed Cora and Isaac back into the hotel.

The two others were waiting for them at the top of the landing, and with a nod from Scott, Isaac led the way back down to the Hales' penthouse—the blond motioning for Cora to stay behind him which she did with a fond roll of her eyes.

Once they made their way back down the hidden staircase to Cora's bedroom, Allison felt the tension ratchet up another order of magnitude—the questions practically buzzing off Scott, and the clearly unspoken words between Isaac and Cora were painfully obvious.

"You're remarkably calm for a girl who was just kidnapped," Scott started, trying to sound casual, but his voice was too firm and authoritative for it to be anything other than a demand.

"And almost thrown off the roof of her own building!" Isaac interjected, not even trying for casual as he turned towards Cora, the two much closer than a normal bodyguard and his charge should be.

With a sigh, Cora Hale shot a brief look at Scott, clearly sizing him up, but she turned to Isaac, her entire posture relaxing, her head bowing in the briefest instance of resignation before looking at the blond.

"I knew that people were going to be after me tonight," Cora started, and if a bomb had gone off in the room right that moment, Allison wasn't sure any of them would have noticed.

Scott looked like he had suspected something along those lines, but the widening of his eyes indicated that he hadn't expected she would _say_ it. Allison was just in full-on shock, she had truly no idea that the heiress was aware of anything that was going on tonight.

"What do you mean you _knew_?" Isaac practically shouted, but his voice was more fearful than angry.

"I'm wearing a ridiculously famous diamond that's worth than the net worth of some small nations!" Cora threw her hands up in the air. "I knew I wasn't going to be safe, Derek said that some more people were going to be here to keep an eye out...I just didn't know the...extent some people were going to go to."

So she didn't know that she was attacked by an organized terrorist and mercenary group or of the assassins present. _And_ it was more than likely Derek Hale had been the one to tip off IMF, but the question was still why?

Why would Derek tell IMF instead of hiring more security outright?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Isaac pleaded, his eyes and voice breaking, and Allison wanted to look away, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment. "Don't you trust me?"

"Are you fucking serious?" Cora retorted, her eyes blazing as she stalked towards the bodyguard. Isaac's shoulders were hunched in on himself, his face towards the ground, and even though the heiress was a good half a foot shorter, she seemed larger than life as she grabbed him by the tie, forcing him to look at her. "I love you, you idiot. I didn't want you to worry."

Isaac didn't appear to hesitate, the words had hardly left her mouth before his hands were cupping Cora's cheeks, bringing their lips crashing together desperately.

This time, Allison _did_ look away, a blush rising in her cheeks. She understood where the other woman was coming from—if Isaac had known that Cora was in danger, he might have kept too close, tipping off Alpha Pack and the assassins that the Hales knew of the price on the Diamond (and Cora), letting the would-be murderers escape.

Sharing an embarrassed look with Scott, Allison shook her head lightly, raising her eyebrows and tipping her head slightly towards the couple verging dangerously close to full-on making out. _Can you believe them?_ could be told in the arch of her eyebrows, the playful uptilt of her smile.

 _They're cute_ , Scott's eyes said, his own grin showing a dimple in one side of his cheek.

The couple was undeniably an interesting love story that Allison surely wanted to know more about, but while they were safe for the moment, she couldn't forget the assassins that were potentially still waiting for them down on the ground floor. They really had no way of knowing if Malia Tate and Theo Raeken had kept their word and weren't just waiting to ambush them when they got back downstairs.

" _I have Lydia_ ," Stiles' voice suddenly crackled to life in her ear, and Allison felt all of her breath rush out of her lungs at the agent's voice. She hadn't realized what a weight her decision to go with Scott instead of finding Lydia had been on her chest until Stiles lifted it from her. " _Danny, we're heading your way now_."

" _It looks like more friends of ours are on their way_ ," Danny said cryptically, and Scott exchanged a confused look with Allison, her own brow furrowing. She hadn't known the technician long, but she got the impression that he was more blunt than vague.

Which had to mean that he was in a situation in which he couldn't talk freely over comms. _This night is never going to end_ , Allison thought, running a hand through her hair and giving Scott's hand a squeeze, needing the reassurance of the boy next to her.

Allison cleared her throat, a grin tugging at her lips (payback was sweet) when Cora and Isaac sprung apart, their faces identical expressions of shock and embarrassment.

"We have to get out of here," she explained gently, turning to Cora, the other girl surreptitiously wiping the dark lipstick that was smudged around her lips. "Especially you, Cora."

That seemed to refocus Isaac, as the heiress reached up and removed her lipstick from Isaac's own lips as he flattened down his curls so it didn't look like Cora had just run her fingers through his hair. And it was almost sad, their movements, like a regrettable return to reality.

"There's a back elevator," Cora explained, leading them back out to the main penthouse space, Scott relaying the information to the rest of their team that they would be down in a few moments, heiress and diamond in tow.

Allison squeezed Scott's hand once again, hoping that the night didn't hold any more surprises (but by thinking that, it nearly ensured that some new shocking, awful surprise was waiting for them downstairs) but she couldn't help the feeling of unease that settled in her stomach, clutching the blades in her free hand as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

A hail of gunfire rang over her head, and although Lydia was keeping her composure, this wasn't her first gun fight after all, she couldn't help the fear that stabbed her entire body at the noises.

This was when people could get hurt. And not just civilians, the guests currently screaming in the ballroom who had no idea why the Hale Hotel was being shot up. But her team (her friends) were at risk, and she couldn't stand to lose anyone else.

Not Danny, maybe the only friend she had left over from her life before Peter Hale, the one who was there for her with white wine or a kind word or a sarcastic comment when she needed it.

Not Scott, the leader who she wished she had trusted sooner, that she had realized that _this_ was the kind of person she should be following, kindhearted and open and strong.

Not Allison, who she had only met a few weeks ago, and only really gotten to know during the mission, but who she knew was her long-lost sister, the sweet warrior to Lydia's bitchy actress.

Not Stiles.

Not Stiles with his flailing limbs and constant theorizing, but a steady hand on her back and golden eyes that were burned into her retinas, a smile that made her want to have seen him earlier.

Not Stiles, who knew how smart she really was and who came back for her, not once but _twice_. Even though she had never done anything for him, he still came back and still wanted her even though he had seen her at the lowest point in her life.

Stiles, who, the second he saw rifles being pulled out, waving in the air, had grabbed her, the two of them scrambling against a wall. He hadn't hesitated to throw an arm over her shoulders, shoving her head down, none too gently, but out of concern rather than cruelty, shielding her with his body.

Peeking out from underneath his arm, she tried looking for Danny or Derek Hale, but his body was blocking most of her view, pressing her sideways between the wall and himself.

"Where the hell are you Scott?" Stiles shouted into the comms, chancing glances around the room, but clearly the rest of their team hadn't arrived yet. "If by some miracle you're still alive, stay the fuck away from the ballroom! Get Cora and Allison the fuck out of here!"

Lydia took deep breaths, trying to steady herself before she got too worried about her friends. She didn't even know when the shooting started—she had been talking to Danny and Ethan about how they were going to get the Hale siblings out of the hotel safely, Derek and Stiles' bickering creating a low hum of background noise, before Stiles was throwing himself bodily on top of her and the whole world went sideways.

Trying to crane her neck to see what was going on, Lydia wrapped a hand around Stiles' waist in an attempt to push himself up, but he looked down at her, pressing gently down on her shoulders, a hand cupping the back of her head, protecting it.

"Stay down, stay down!" He cried, his voice determined and seemingly dropping an octave.

"What is happening?" She shouted, relenting and ducking her head once more, but she kept her arm around his torso, using it to pull herself against his side. Even though they were in an oddly crouched position, Lydia could feel his entire abdomen (from chest to hips) pressed against her, the weight a security to her.

"We're getting shot at," Stiles retorted, a hard edge of sarcasm in his tone.

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help biting back, "No shit! Where's the rest of our team?"

Shifting around so she could see a little more clearly, Stiles moved his second hand to her upper arm, keeping his entire body between her and the ballroom. "The rest of the guys look like they're fine. Scott and Allison haven't showed up yet, but god-fucking-damn it, they're here," he cursed as the last two members of their team entered the ballroom, Cora Hale and her bodyguard, Isaac Lahey in tow.

"Get down!" A chorus of voices shouted out, Derek, Stiles, and Danny having spotted the quartet, Stiles taking the hand off her upper arm to motion for them to take cover.

She watched as Isaac took up a similar position as Stiles, grabbing Cora Hale around the waist and nearly tackling her to the ground, the heiress practically disappearing underneath the young man. Scott and Allison ducked out of sight, hiding behind the open double-doors that led out to the lobby.

It was pandemonium in the ballroom, never-ending gunshots echoing in her ears, her heart practically beating in time with the shots, her breath coming quickly, and the upper-class guests of Cora Hale were running around, some trying to take cover. It was simply chaos.

"We have to get these people out of here!" She shouted over the din of people screaming, cries, and gunfire.

"How the hell do we do that?" Stiles replied, not shooting her down, but genuinely curious as to how they were going to accomplish such a feat.

Looking up, she spotted the security cameras hidden in light fixtures, the high-domed ceiling only marred by the lights...and she wondered what else could be hidden in the archways.

"Fire alarms!" Lydia exclaimed, looking up and meeting Stiles' desperate but determined honey-gold eyes. (She felt a spark in her sternum as she realized that there was no one else she wanted, or trusted, to protect her.)

He simply furrowed his brow, his lips in a tight line, but he looked like he was trying to follow her train of thought. "What? What about fire alarms?"

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, but they really didn't have time to discuss this. "Just get me over to Danny," she demanded.

For a second, she thought he was going to argue with her, but Stiles nodded firmly, his head swiveling as he stood up slowly, keeping his arm around her shoulders, keeping her tucked against his side as he pulled her with him. Moving quickly, Stiles kept her behind him as they ran along the wall, crouching back down when they were a little closer to the doors.

Danny looked positively terrified, and Lydia didn't blame him in the slightest. If there had been a surprise shooting creating chaos and panic on her third field mission, she would have had a complete mental breakdown—as it was, she was only holding it together because of the body pressed against her, surrounding her, tethering her to the ground. Derek was practically flat on the ground, his neck craned to keep his sister in his line of sight. Ethan looked remarkably clam, but there was a shock in his expression that meant he had no idea that this was supposed to happen.

(She supposed she could trust Aiden's twin, as long as he didn't blame her too much for trying to choke his twin out.)

"Is there a sprinkler system in here?" She shouted, not bothering to preface her question with any kind of context.

"What?" Danny asked, shaking his head, clearly surprised and confused.

"The sprinklers!" Stiles repeated, his voice full of awe and understanding. He looked down at Lydia, his eyes practically sparkling, and his mouth was turning up in a grin despite the dire situation they were in. "Lydia you are a _genius_!"

She didn't try and stop the flush of approval and pride that raced to her cheeks at his words, nor the grin that curled at her lips. Maybe she should start giving the whole " _IQ of 170_ " thing a try if this was the response she received from Stiles (like she had just become so much more beautiful in his eyes...just because of her brain).

"Can someone tell me what the hell you're talking about?" Danny interjected, drawing her attention.

"If we turn on the sprinkler system," Lydia explained, talking quickly, "hopefully that will snap some people out of it and they can actually get the hell out of here."

"And we can get _them_ ," Stiles nodded towards Derek, Isaac, and Cora, "out of here."

Danny's eyes lit up in realization, and he pulled out his clipboard-tablet, beginning to type at a speed that was almost inhuman.

"Get ready to get the fuck out of here!" Stiles shouted to the rest of their team, the Hales, Isaac, and Ethan, removing his arm from her shoulders, but grabbed her hand instead.

Linking their fingers together, Lydia looked up at him and nodded, taking a steading breath. This was it, the entire mission coming down to this: if they could get the Hales and the Diamond out of the hotel safely. If they could survive.

Shrieks pierced the air as a torrential downpour started coming down in the ballroom, and even though it was probably ruining her dress, her hair, and her makeup, Lydia couldn't have been more relieved.

Stiles tugged on her hand, and Lydia kept her head down as the two of them followed their team, their new friends, and a whole stampede of guests that started running towards the lobby.

Gunshots still echoed too close for comfort, but she didn't allow herself to focus on anything other than "get out." _Live_.

(Lydia was not going to waste that dance with Stiles. She was not going to waste the promise that was made in a mercenary's room, adrenaline and secrets revealed filling the air. Hands stroking bloody cheeks and arms wrapping around her in a way that felt like maybe he was putting her together, reforging her into something stronger, better, more like herself.)

Before she knew it, Lydia was gulping in the crisp, chill night air, and she wanted to cry with relief. Slumping against Stiles' side, all of her energy was spent, rushing out of her in a single breath, and she let him lead her farther away from the hotel, the rest of their odd group of socialites and defected mercenaries and agents congregating across the street.

There was a silence over them as they watched people pour out of the hotel, dresses and suits torn, some people bloody and injured, many crying in pain and terror.

Danny and Ethan were talking quietly with Derek, the elder Hale sibling clearly exhausted as his attention was split between the two men talking to him, his hotel as sirens sounded in this distance, and his sister.

Isaac had his arm wrapped around Cora, the heiress looking shell-shocked as she leaned her head against his chest, the Diamond shining in the low light, one of her hands coming up to rest above the bodyguard's heart, and Lydia grinned—she would have to get the whole story about how _that_ happened from Allison.

Speaking of, Allison was standing hand-in-hand with Scott, the two barely having an inch of space between them, her dark eyes scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who was a threat to her team. Scott's hand was rubbing circles on the back of her hand comfortingly—she would _definitely_ have to find out when the two finally admitted they were disgustingly perfect together.

Stiles' hand tightened around hers, and she looked up at him, awe and realization in her green eyes.

It hit her in that moment...they had made it.

The mission that really pushed the "impossible" moniker of their job, that had gone wrong almost from the beginning, was going to be a success.

"We did it," she whispered, but the entire group turned to look at her. Offering a slight shrug in response, she couldn't help the relief that colored her voice.

"To be fair, our mission _was_ the Hale Diamond," Stiles teased lightly, the smirk obvious in his voice, "and we didn't actually get it."

"Actually," Derek interjected, and then all eyes were on him as he sighed, looking at his feet before meeting each IMF's agent's eyes in turn. "I needed to know who was after Cora. Deaton knew my mother so I asked him to send a team, well, set a team on the trail and hopefully we could draw out whoever wanted to hurt her."

Lydia suppressed a gasp of shock, her eyes blinking rapidly being the only sign that his words had surprised her. On the other hand, Stiles' mouth was opening and closing with no sound coming out, obviously unsure on how to respond.

"And I guess we did help in that way," Scott said sheepishly, and Allison finally ended her death stare with the people streaming out of the Hale Hotel, looking at the leader with a look that could have rotted teeth with its sweetness.

"Do you have any reason why Alpha Pack would be after you?" Danny asked, taking Ethan's hand as the latter ducked his head, hiding his expression.

"I've never heard of them," Derek shook his head, turning to look at his sister. Cora looked like she was out of it, shivering, her hair wet, her fingers tracing over Isaac's chest, but the bodyguard looked more alert, following the conversation silently.

"Well, they _are_ mercenaries," Lydia said, thinking aloud. "It's not entirely out of the question that they were hired by someone completely unknown to us right now."

Derek nodded, sighing and sticking his hands in his pockets, another silence falling over the group.

"Is this the right place to be discussing all of this?" Scott interjected, because they could all tell that Stiles was gearing up for a rant.

Allison shook her head. "No. We need to get out of here." Her voice wasn't anxious, but there was an undertone there that Lydia couldn't identify or have the time to decipher.

"Take this," Cora finally spoke, looking up at Isaac and nodding her head slightly as she turned around. A ripple of shock passed through everyone else as the bodyguard gingerly moved her straight dark hair to the side and unclasped the necklace. The heiress handed the Diamond to Scott, who looked slightly terrified as he held the piece of jewelry between two fingers like he was afraid it was going to explode. "It'll be safer with you guys anyway."

"Where are you going to go?" Scott asked, his eyes looking between Isaac and the Hales curiously.

"It's actually better if we don't know," Stiles interrupted as Derek opened his mouth to speak, giving the older man a nod.

"But you're going to be alright?" Allison moved out of Scott's embrace for a moment, giving Isaac a brief side-hug.

"We will," Cora said, and there was a fire in her tone that made Lydia look at the heiress in a different way, and wonder if they weren't more similar than she would have thought. Two beautiful girls who were underestimated by those around her, strength hidden underneath a pretty smile and a daring dress.

(And Allison was just the same as well, so maybe beautiful, strong girls wanted to find each other, not quite fitting in until they did.)

Reaching out her free hand, Lydia linked pinkies with Allison, feeling the support and pure friendship through their connection. And as she looked around, she was surprised to feel a sense of belonging, of _home_.

A leader and a protector wrapped around each other, the leader kissing the side of the protector's head chastely.

A bodyguard and an heiress who seemed to be melting together, the bodyguard holding the heiress from behind, his cheek resting on the crown of her head.

A wayward son who had used his connections to protect his family.

A calm technician and a (ex) mercenary holding hands tightly, having risked everything for each other.

A high-strung, brave, caring, brilliant, beautiful spy who held an actress by the hand, the actress resting against the spy's side. The actress turned to look in the spy's golden eyes, eyes that looked like sunbeams even in the moonlight, eyes that gazed back at her in a way that made her want to drown in the sun.

The group walked away into the night, all soaked to the bone from the sprinklers, but Lydia just looked at the boy next to her and wondered how they had managed to get so lucky.

They had done it. They had accomplished their mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who made it to the end of this chapter!! If you're wondering about Stydia, just tune in to the epilogue : )
> 
> Please leave a comment or a review or a kudos to let me know what you think! Did you like some of the backstory we got? What about the little slightly-insane Bonnie and Clyde!Maleo interlude?? Are you dying to read a Corsaac bodyguard/heiress AU fic like I am to write it??? Was there enough Stydia (there can never be too much)! I would love to hear from you!!
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	7. Epilogue: Mission Accomplished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the answers are the relationships we made along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the epilogue is here!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, or commented, I really appreciate the response!!
> 
> This fic is the longest thing I've ever written (ever), I wrote it under a month, and I'm so glad I got to share this weird amazing idea for an AU I had with everyone.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Mission Impossible or Teen Wolf.
> 
> Enjoy!

Scott drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the steel table in the interrogation room. It wasn't that he was _nervous_ exactly, but the mission hadn't exactly gone according to plan and as the team leader (even while disavowed) the responsibility was on his shoulders.

And Deaton wasn't very comforting on his good days, so Scott couldn't help but wonder what was going through the man's head right now.

It had been two days since their mission to "retrieve" the Hale Diamond had gone...not _well_ , but it hadn't been a complete loss either. And as with every unsanctioned mission, the debrief had to be as contained as possible. Which meant late night meetings in the interrogation room.

Resisting the urge to fidget in his seat, the tan leader looked at the operations manager with a hopeful tilt to his head, his brown eyes wide and hopeful. The other man had been silent for a full three minutes since Scott had finished his story and he was starting to worry that he had broken the stoic head of the IMF branch.

"I take full responsibility for what happened at the Hale Hotel," Scott reiterated, wondering if Deaton had heard him the first time. "Don't punish any of the team, I was the one who let Deucalion live."

"No one is going to get reprimanded," Deaton finally broke his silence, his voice ever-calm and nearly monotone in its flatness.

"Oh," Scott couldn't help but let a bit of a grin out in relief. "That's good...isn't it?"

Deaton leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him on top of the interrogation table. "Scott...what you did was incredibly reckless. Not only forming an alliance with a man you had just met _knowing_ the Hales' security was compromised, but also two wanted assassins who had given you and Mr. Stilinski...well, let's say that 'difficulties' is putting it mildly."

At this point, Scott felt his heart sinking as Deaton stood up, starting to pace as he reiterated all the ways the mission went wrong. And it wasn't like Deaton was raising his voice. In fact, Scott might have preferred it if he yelled, telling him what an absolute catastrophe of a mission he had ran. That for an agent who had been in the field for nearly five years and leading missions for three, that he should have known better. Should have figured out a way to handle all the curveballs they had been thrown that night.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Scott started, shaking his head (some part of him wanting to have the floppy bangs he'd had for a little bit while he was sixteen to hide his red cheeks). "I should've found another way. B-b-but everything was going wrong. I lost sight of Cora Hale for thirty seconds and then she was gone, and then there were so many more Alpha Pack members than we expected, and Lydia had gone missing..."

"Scott," Deaton interrupted gently, and Scott raised his head to look his supervisor in the eyes, hoping the older man could read the regret there. "It takes a great leader to understand how to take control of a mission when everything is going wrong, and from what you've told me, everything _did_ go wrong."

"But we still don't know who was behind Alpha Pack," Scott protested, and he could practically hear Stiles telling him to shut up and let Deaton commend their work. "Deucalion got away, Corrine is dead, and there's no way you can tell me that's not going to cause a whole mess of problems for you."

Deaton shook his head, taking a seat again. "Let me worry about handling the Desert Wolf's death. With all of the commotion that occurred, it won't be difficult to convince local law enforcement that she was simply an innocent woman caught in the crossfire."

"And Deucalion?" He said quietly, looking down at his hands. There wasn't going to be an easy way out in that regard. "We still don't know if they were hired...or who put up a twenty million dollar reward for Cora Hale's death."

"We will handle Deucalion and the Alpha Pack when they resurface," Deaton replied with a sigh. "And the IMF has plenty of resources to track their movements, and to look into who hired Alpha Pack."

With a nod, Scott felt a weight lift off his chest. They would have a chance to rectify their mistakes of the night—and while he wasn't sure if it was still the right move to leave Alpha Pack unconscious but alive on the roof, he stood by the decision. It was the only decision he felt like he _could_ have made in that situation.

"Is that all?" Scott asked, and when Deaton nodded, he stood, heading towards the door.

"Morrell will be calling in with your next mission within the day," the other man started, and Scott's heart sunk. (Another mission already?) "I'm assuming you want to keep your same team."

"Definitely," Scott said without hesitation. If they could get through the Hale heist, they could handle the next impossible mission.

"Wonderful. Have everyone meet in the conference room in a few hours to discuss the parameters. Oh, and please send in Mr. Mahealani," the other man replied, and with one final nod, Scott left the room.

It was just a short walk from the interrogation room to his own office where he knew most of his friends had set up shop for the late night. And it wasn't just because he had a stash of Twizzlers and Reese Peanut Butter Cups for Allison and Stiles, respectively, but because after the absolute shitshow of a mission, they had all become practically attached at the hip (Lydia was the one exception, to Stiles' well-hidden disappointment), spending probably thirty of the last forty-eight hours together.

Pushing open the door to his office, he couldn't help but smile a the sight.

Stiles was spinning around lazily in Scott's desk chair, chewing on the end of a pen and staring at the ceiling with an expression of intense concentration on his face. His brother had refused to leave the building except for when Allison or Scott forced him to go home and change. And he knew Stiles' desk was a mess of papers and research on Alpha Pack, Aiden, Peter Hale, and even Jackson Whittemore.

Danny and Ethan were talking quietly in the corner, having appropriated about half of each other's chairs. In the two days after the latter had defected, Scott had gotten to know the twin a little better, and while he couldn't say he was friends with the man yet, he trusted him. Plus, he and Danny were a cute couple, the technician actually looking happier than Scott had ever seen him.

And Allison...

God, he felt like a teenager in his first relationship all over again, but he couldn't resist smiling whenever he caught sight of her dark curls, her sweet, dimpled smile. They had fallen into a routine that was incredibly comfortable...like they had been dating for two years instead of two days. She had practically moved into his office, the two stretching out on his couch the night after the mission (Lydia lying literally on top of Stiles on the floor, Danny and Ethan in chairs, Isaac and Cora cuddling on a blanket, Derek passed out under the desk) and they slept for twelve hours straight.

She turned to look at him, and there were those dimples, her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders, relaxed in soft-looking grey leggings and a pink top, her leather jacket hanging over her chair.

"How was it?" She asked, but he swooped in and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. He could literally feel her smile against his lips and he felt fireworks going off in his stomach, an unknown sensation—the feeling that he had found someone who was going to be in his life for a long time.

He wondered if it was fate.

* * *

"Ugh, God, stop," Stiles groaned from his chair, and Danny rolled his eyes at his friend.

Allison and Scott were in that phase of a new relationship where they couldn't help but greet each other with a kiss (and, okay, Danny might be in the same boat, but that didn't mean it was a bad thing).

"It's bad enough I have to deal with these two," Stiles continued, gesturing wildly towards Danny and Ethan, "flirting twenty-four-seven, but now _this_."

Allison pulled away with a laugh, the dark-haired leader wrapping an arm around her shoulders so she rested against his chest. "What's so awful about _this_?" Scott asked, gesturing between him and his girlfriend, a smile in those puppy-dog eyes.

"Uh, maybe because I'm always third- or fifth-wheeling everyone on this fucking team?" Stiles fired back, his voice high but he didn't seem to be particularly cruel-intentioned, just frustrated.

Danny did feel slightly bad for the intelligence agent though. Lydia had practically been a ghost after that first night, and although Danny had texted her a couple times asking if she wanted to join the group when they were eating in Scott's office together or getting drinks after work, she always had an excuse. And since he was friends with both Stiles and Lydia, he had a unique perspective to how they were being absolute idiots.

If they didn't talk soon, he was seriously considering going through with his plan to lock them in the conference room and not let them out until they had actually _told_ each other that they were into each other or resolved the palpable sexual tension between them.

He didn't particularly care as long as he didn't have to listen to one more of Stiles' late-night rants and theories about the Hale Diamond and/or Alpha Pack because he was too scared to call Lydia or talk to her (again, because he knew he was just nervous because she hadn't called him back). Or have to deal with Lydia's voicemails where she was slightly wine-drunk telling him about how Stiles had come to her rescue for the eightieth time.

"Deaton's ready for you," Scott said to Danny, and Ethan gave his hand a squeeze as the technician stood up, nerves settling in the pit of his stomach.

He was the one who had risked the entire mission on a whim that the guy he'd been texting (and occasionally, mildly sexting) wanting to switch sides.

 _Shit_ , he thought, _this could go really poorly for me_.

He heard Stiles start up his rant again about PDA and office boundaries as he closed the door, Scott's exasperated sigh and Allison's, "You know he's only this pissy because he refuses to ask Lydia out _despite the fact that she'll totally say yes_..." getting muffled as he walked further down the hallway.

Refusing to let himself get even more nervous (because Scott came back from debrief looking fine, not like he had been verbally eviscerated by Deaton), Danny knocked on the door to the interrogation room, and tried not to think about the implications of having the debriefs in the one room with easily erasable security footage at one in the morning with no one else in the building.

"Come in," Deaton's soft but authoritative voice called from inside the room.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and closed it behind him. He took a seat across from Deaton, doing a remarkable job of keeping a neutral expression on his face despite the fact that his heart wanted to beat out of his chest.

"What do you want to know?" Danny asked, figuring it would just be easier to rip the band-aid off and get right to the point, skipping all the pleasantries.

With a shadow of a smile, Deaton steepled his hands under his chin. "I have most of what went wrong down from Scott, I was just hoping you could fill in some details for me."

Danny nodded silently, already knowing where this was going and wondering if there was still enough time to quit.

"How's Ethan settling in here?"

Okay, that was definitely not the question he was expecting. Danny was definitely expecting to be asked about Ethan, but he assumed it would be in more of a "what were you thinking?" kind of capacity.

"Excuse me?" He asked, his brain still trying to catch up with the words being said.

"Ethan," Deaton replied, his tone frustratingly neutral. "I'm wondering how he's adjusting to the IMF. Although it has only been two days, I'm wondering if you have any insights into what his place here might be."

"So you're asking me about my relationship?" This debrief was definitely _not_ going the way he had anticipated, but Danny wasn't complaining.

"Is that the main reason Ethan had for wanting to join?" Deaton asked.

Refusing to blush in front of his boss, Danny just took a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts. "I think he wants to help," he said honestly. "I was just the first person to give him the chance to do that."

"And do you think he'll stay loyal, or defect if someone gives him a better offer?" Deaton pressed, not so much that it was accusatory, but it still didn't feel nice to have someone question your (boyfriend's?) friend's loyalty.

"I think he'll stay," Danny replied firmly, and he believed it. Sure, it had only been two days and Ethan was technically on probation, but he had spent those two days learning about how IMF worked, his blue eyes skeptical at first, but gradually revealing an intrigue and a curiosity for the organization. He was an adrenaline junkie, Danny was learning, and there was certainly nothing more heart-pounding than a literal impossible mission.

Danny knew it had been hard to leave his twin behind, Ethan having told him so, but also because he would catch Ethan staring out a window before realizing that he was really staring at his own reflection. But when he tried to get the other man to talk about why his brother wouldn't come with, Ethan deflected, shaking off whatever melancholy had come over him, a bright smile stretching his lips, showing off his perfect teeth, and drawing attention to his obscenely chiseled jawline. And maybe they hadn't actually talked about what they were now ( _wow, that sounded so high school_ ) but they had a date planned for tonight, they saw each other every day, and they'd kissed several times in the past forty-eight hours. So maybe they were on a decent path, Danny certainly hoped so.

"That's very good to hear. I'm glad he's part of the team," Deaton responded, and Danny couldn't help but feel like it was genuine, that the other man was actually happy that Ethan had joined the IMF.

Thinking back to Ethan with his bright blue eyes and how he made Danny feel like he was actually qualified to run a field mission, his confidence soaring, he realized that he was glad Ethan had switched sides too.

"Is there anything else?" Deaton asked, and Danny's heart sunk as he pulled the readout from his pocket.

He had been combing through the results from the silent auction in the past couple days, and while most of the sales had been legitimate, there had been one red flag that sent unease coursing through him.

"Yeah, one more thing," Danny replied. "There's a missing box from the Hale's silent auction. It's just a small thing, wooden even, with a triskelion pattern on top."

* * *

Allison grinned up at her boyfriend, watching him argue with Stiles, both men looking more content that she had seen them before. Apparently, their parents had gotten married a couple years ago and Scott was notoriously bad at remembering their anniversary.

"I hope you don't forget _our_ anniversary," she teased, smiling broadly with a chuckle. With anyone else she would be worried about coming on too strong, of being "clingy" but this was Scott. They had barely made it back to IMF after the Hale Hotel before he was asking her to be his girlfriend.

"Of course not." Scott grinned, giving her a light kiss on the lips, her eyes sliding closed at the contact.

Every time he kissed her it was like she was discovering a new part of herself, another part that slotted perfectly against Scott. This time, it was the endless universe that seemed to burst into existence under her skin at the barest of touches—his lips against hers, his hand coming up to brush hair over her ear, the arm around her shoulders turning her towards him.

She wasn't kidding about the anniversary, fully expecting to still be with Scott a year from now. And while that might be a bit naïve, and Lydia would tell her that nothing was certain in their line of work and that caring about people just led to pain, Allison was a romantic deep down.

Scott and her would figure a relationship out because she had started to love him when he lent her a pen.

"I wasn't joking about _this_ becoming an issue," Stiles interrupted, and Allison pulled back, a faint pink blush in her cheeks as she realized that there was someone else in the room with them.

"Sorry," Scott apologized, not sounding very sorry at all. But, then again, Stiles didn't look that annoyed, just...sad?

Allison bit her lip, deciding whether she should put Stiles out of his misery and tell him that Lydia liked him, but her friend had made her swear (at two in the morning, knocking on Allison's door, fully dressed, looking terrified out of her mind) not to say anything. That she was trying to stop liking him.

"Well, it wouldn't be that big a deal if Lydia would bother returning any of my calls," Stiles grumbled under his breath, so quietly Allison wasn't sure they were supposed to hear.

"I thought you guys were doing better," Allison said carefully, looking at her hands briefly. "I would have thought that dance changed a lot."

"You also were the one to rescue her from Aiden," Scott added with a grin that was probably supposed to be encouraging.

"So a dance I basically dared her into and saving her from a ridiculously handsome guy," Stiles threw his hands up in the air, sarcasm lacing every word. "I'm really doing great...she could do a hell of a lot better, anyways."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes, but when she glanced at Scott, his brown eyes were so sad it was like a punch to the heart. And then she realized that the reason Scott was upset was because Stiles genuinely believed what he was saying, and then his pain was hers as well.

"Stiles," Allison sighed, leaning forward, making sure he was looking at her before she continued. "I've been here for all of a week and a half and even _I know_ Lydia doesn't do anything she doesn't want to...and I also know that she needed you to come for her. And you know that too. Plus, she deserves who she wants, don't you think?"

Stiles hung his head, hiding his expression, but his entire body radiated hopelessness. But not the resignation of unrequited love. It was the fear and despair that came with hope, with being able to accept pining from afar, but not the potential of having his feelings returned. Because that heartbreak would be infinitely worse than if she had never felt the same way at all.

"Stiles..." Scott said since the messy-haired boy hadn't said anything in the past minute, and he had stopped fidgeting which was surely a sign of extreme internal distress. "Buddy, are you okay?"

"I just need some air," he deflected, his voice tight as he sprang up from the chair, a blur of motion once again.

As Stiles sprinted out the door, Scott moved to follow, but Allison just put her hand on her boyfriend's arm, gently stopping him.

"H-he used to get panic attacks," he said frantically, his eyes wide and she knew he just wanted to help his friend. "I have to go see if he's okay."

"Lydia texted me saying she would be here as close to her debrief time as possible," Allison explained, and when Scott looked at her, and adorably confused expression on his face, she took pity on him. "She should be here any minute now, and she came to my apartment the other night. Talking about how she couldn't afford to have feelings for anyone at this job and going on and on about Stiles' eyes it was bordering on poetry. I'm kind of impressed she came up with so many synonyms for 'gold.'"

Scott laughed, shaking his head in disbelief and sinking back into his seat. "I literally cannot believe those two sometimes."

"I know!" Allison grinned, giggling at the look on Scott's face. He looked like he'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat.

"Well," he turned to her with a goofy smile slanting his crooked jaw even more, "at least you get to share in my misery."

"What do you mean?" She chuckled, grabbing Scott's hand.

He curled his fingers in between hers and squeezing. "Now you get to enjoying being the best friend who they tell all of their relationship problems to and listen to them pining and pining."

"Hmm, I don't think so," she leaned in, her eyes flicking down to his lips, biting her own lip playfully. "I fully intend on locking them in a closet if they keep dancing around each other much longer."

Scott chuckled at that, but his eyes were a little darker, a little happier too though. "I think you'll have to get in line. I heard it from Mason that Danny's been planning on trapping them in the conference room for a while now."

"That works too," she grinned as Scott ducked his head, their lips brushing together.

"Ahem," a voice behind them cleared their throat.

Slightly peeved at their kiss being interrupted ( _again_ ), Allison pulled back, giving Ethan a frustrated glare.

"I think Deaton's ready for you, Allison," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

With a nod, the girl stood, bending to plant a sweet kiss on Scott's cheek affectionately. "Okay. I'll be right back."

"There's a mission from Morrell I'm supposed to be getting in a couple hours," Scott replied a hopeful look in his eyes. "I was hoping you'd be on my team."

She smiled brightly—she hadn't expected that just because they were dating that he would want to keep working with her, so the fact that he _did_ just made her feel even more relaxed and content. "Of course," she promised.

Scott nodded, grinning widely, before he shooed her out of his office, saying Deaton was probably waiting. She left, brushing past Ethan who was busy looking anywhere but at the two of them, the back of his neck so red you would've thought he had walked in on them having sex on Scott's desk (an image that was not going away anytime soon now that she'd thought of it) instead of talking.

Walking into the interrogation room, she forced her face into an expression of professionalism instead of the love-struck grin she had surely been sporting.

"Good evening, Deaton," she greeted warmly, taking a seat across from him.

"I think it's probably closer to 'good morning' now, Miss Argent," he replied, his voice raising at "good morning" the only clue that he was making something close to a joke.

"Have you heard anything from the Hales and Isaac?" Allison asked, sad that the heiress, her brother, and her bodyguard (maybe boyfriend now?) had disappeared before they could go for drinks.

"They're safe," Deaton assured her cryptically. "I've heard that Talia Hale had a vacation estate in South America that is quite lovely this time of year."

She nodded, letting out a sigh of relief that they were safe, although it was not getting easier to understand the half-truths and seemingly unrelated comments that characterized her job now. Gerard was certainly never so enigmatic about his motives or demands.

But then, the nerves settled back in her stomach and she remembered the reason why she had been dreading this debrief. Because of _who_ she'd seen leaving Cora Hale's party.

"Peter Hale was at the party," she blurted out, but her voice was quiet, nearly a mutter.

"Oh, really?" Deaton asked, seemingly calm but he had raised his eyebrows in surprise.

She nodded, remembering the tall man that had been walking much too calmly to be surprised by the gunfire and the sprinklers. She had vaguely recognized him, knowing she'd seen his face before, but it wasn't until the man's blue eyes stopped on Lydia, did she realize that she'd seen him when studying with the redhead one night, pouring over old newspaper articles that had anything to do with the Hale family or their hotels.

In the two days since, she'd struggled whether to tell the rest of the team, not wanting to draw alarm when it was unwarranted. But there was something about how he'd looked at Lydia, before his eyes slid to Cora that got under her skin.

Deaton would know what the right course of action was.

"It was definitely him."

* * *

Lydia Martin did not get nervous.

Not when she took the SATs as a freshman and got a near perfect score. Not when she graduated from MIT at twenty. Not when she joined the IMF four years ago at twenty-one. Not when Jackson kissed her for the first time (hot and heavy in his Porsche, his hands gripping her hips roughly, kissing turning to sex almost immediately).

Not when she stared at Peter Hale's face next to her in the dim lights of that hotel bar, knowing that she was going to let him lead her up to his room.

But then Jackson's voice calling her "dead weight" echoed in her ears and maybe Lydia Martin _did_ get nervous.

When she heard the lock click and the comms shorted out, her partner (boyfriend? Fuck buddy?) abandoning her in the middle of a mission.

When she woke up in a hospital room three days later with a fuzzy memory and a balloon that said, "Get Well Soon!" tied to a solved Rubik's Cube (the one that had been on her desk at work that she'd been struggling to finish for a month, because while she was a genius and could memorize the algorithms that solved Rubik's Cubes, she refused to use them, wanting to finish it the old-fashioned way) and knew that it could have only come from one person.

When she walked into a hotel, a ring on her finger, her hands in his, and she let herself flirt (maybe a little more over the top than she would normally), and when she really let herself consider the possibility of this being her future. A distant future, maybe, but it was terrifying how easy it was to imagine that becoming reality.

When she was alone with Aiden in a hotel room, except this time she couldn't hear her partner abandoning her and somehow that made everything so much worse.

(Except he hadn't abandoned her. The boy with the crooked smile and sunshine eyes came back for her, and that made her even more nervous.)

When she woke up the night after the "heist" as Stiles had taken to calling their mission in the Hale Hotel. Curled on top of Stiles, her entire body resting on the hard planes of his chest but it was more comfortable than the queen-sized bed in her apartment. His hand on her hip, arms around her, the other hand tangled in her hair, her own hand resting on his shirt above his heart. One of her legs between his, the bare skin of her thigh rubbing against the starchiness of his cheap dress pants.

When she saw his face, asleep and peaceful, and she was reminded of the boy who had asked her to dance and didn't take "no" for an answer because he knew that she wanted to dance. (Not only that, but she had wanted to dance with _him_.)

And suddenly she was reminded of missions where Jackson would say one thing, and she would believe him. Two hours later he would have changed his mind, telling her that he just said it in the heat of the moment. Adrenaline and the excitement of a mission causing his blood to run hot and he said that he didn't really mean whatever the hell he'd said.

It had been like a storm cloud had descended over Lydia's whole world as she tried to remember a time when Stiles had expressed an interest in her outside of missions. Wondering if she had truly felt what she had, if the decision not to waste her dance was one made out of true affection or fear.

(In her heart, she knew that there were countless times when Stiles would look at her across their desks, that unreadable look in his eye. Or he would try and joke with her and she would brush him off and his face would fall but he would bounce back a minute later, trying to get her to admit that, _Of course I've seen Star Wars, Stiles. It's only the most famous movie saga of all time._ )

(Her mind—the one scarred from Jackson, then by his betrayal, then again by Peter Hale—couldn't handle the idea of having someone love her so unconditionally. And to have those same feelings for him creeping in from the edges of her heart.)

So she had ran.

She had untangled herself from the spy, who looked innocent in sleep, unburdened by his worry, and had run out of the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

(She couldn't do this. She wasn't sure if she still had enough of her heart to give.)

(And if she gave the rest to Stiles, she didn't know what else she would have if he broke it.)

So, the two days after the mission were spent pacing in her apartment, trying to distract herself as much as she could from sarcasm and long fingers. Cleaning everything she owned, making about a dozen batches of cookies she was never going to eat, opening the white wine Danny had bought her after her accident. _Calling_ Danny late at night or early in the morning because she couldn't call Stiles.

He had texted her only ten minutes after she had left the IMF headquarters, so she knew that he had woken up when she had left and that just made her feel even worse.

So she didn't respond.

And she didn't reply to the fifteen subsequent texts or the three calls or the one voicemail that just said, " _I have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea but...I-I thought...I thought...ugh, it doesn't matter what I thought, does it?_ "

She had cried for three hours after listening to it before she was able to pull herself together enough to drive to Allison's apartment. Even though it was two in the morning, and she had never even bothered to change out of the dress she had been wearing around her place, she had been awake for so long.

Because how could he think that what he thought didn't matter to her?

(She knew it was because she had ignored him for years, only flirting with him when she needed to make herself feel better because she couldn't imagine flirting with him for real.)

(Not because she didn't want to, but because she knew it would open a door she didn't want to open because once it was ajar it was never going to close again.)

Because his mind was what she admired the most about him—his intelligence, his empathy, the mental strength it took to do what he did in this job.

And Allison had listened to her half-formed thoughts and ravings without judgement, even though Lydia knew the other woman wanted to tell her that she was being ridiculous, and that Stiles wasn't Jackson.

That was something she wasn't sure she had been able to understand until this moment.

(Stiles wasn't Jackson.)

Because Stiles was standing there, leaning against the wall next to the hallway leading to Deaton's office and the rest of the rooms, his head in his hands, practically shaking and looking like he was two minutes from a panic attack.

But Lydia Martin didn't get nervous, so she sucked in a deep breath, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she walked over to him.

"Hi," she whispered weakly (pathetically), wringing her hands in front of her.

Stiles just kept gasping for air in between words. "What...do you...want?"

And she deserved that, because she had wanted to tell him how she felt and left him out to dry. "Uhm, I just...are you okay?"

His head snapped up at that, his golden eyes clouded over and watery. "No...I'm note f-fucking okay! I have to go in there and tell Deaton about the absolute clusterfuck of a mission. About how we almost died multiple times. About how I left an assassin in a random hallway because he implied you were in danger. About how I danced with you because I wanted to, but I'll give him whatever bullshit reason I gave you and it's not like it even mattered because I guess the excuse actually wasn't bullshit. And how Allison just said that you might...whatever, it doesn't matter, because I thought..."

"Stiles, Stiles," she soothed, her hands coming up to instinctively cup his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs across his high cheekbones, one still bruised from Theo Raeken's punch. (Her thumb trying to take the pain out of the raw wound on his cheek in a quiet hotel room.)

His eyes were so confused and tormented, and she hated that _she_ made him feel that way, but then his golden brown eyes darted down to her lips (so quickly, she thought she might have imagined it) and her own gaze was drawn to his Cupid's bow. Lips that had never done anything but tell her how much he cared for her, or to challenge her. Lips that she should have kissed a long time ago.

And so if two days spent trying to convince herself she didn't have feelings for Stiles was two days in a rainstorm (of icy tears and shaking limbs).

Then when she kissed him...it was like the sun coming out.

* * *

Stiles felt breath return to his lungs as soft lips slid over his.

The past two days had been the closest depiction of hell he had ever experienced, and he didn't know if he could keep going. Because there was no way things could get worse than waking up to the closing of a door (literally and metaphorically), his body growing that kind of cold that only comes in the absence of another person's body heat.

No one else was awake, and he was glad, because then no one else could see the tears that leaked out of his eyes, running up his forehead because he couldn't pick himself off the floor.

He couldn't chase after Lydia because he didn't imagine the look in those jade eyes as she leaned into his side, soaking from the sprinklers. How she had looked at him after their dance and when they were in Aiden's room, her hand on his cheek, rubbing away the sting of his injury but also the sting of his guilt.

(He had been too slow to save her once, and it had haunted him ever since.)

He couldn't chase her because he had been chasing her for three fucking years and maybe he was just going crazy. Delusional even.

Because maybe she hadn't looked at him like he had thought, and if he asked her about it and she laughed in his face, he didn't know what he would do.

(Because not loving her wasn't even an option.)

(It was like his DNA was wired to Lydia Martin and if she didn't love him back that was fine, he wasn't going to stop. He was going to love her as a friend or as a partner or whatever the hell she would take him as. And maybe he would even find someone else, move on, it's not like he hadn't had girlfriends before. But loving Lydia Martin wasn't a question...it was a state of being.)

(And he imagined loving her while she loved him would be something else entirely.)

So he had tried to forget, throwing himself into his work because that was the only other thing he knew how to do that even came close to drowning out Lydia's green eyes and fiery gold hair.

In forty-eight hours he had been to his and Scott's house once (to get a change of clothes), eaten maybe twice (closer to one and a half, five if you counted cups of coffee as meals), and learned everything he could about Peter fucking Hale and the Alpha Pack. His desk was a mess, and he knew some of it spilled over to Lydia's and he didn't want to clean it, hoping that maybe she would talk to him if only to chew him out for ruining her immaculate workstation.

In forty-eight hours, he had texted her sixteen times, deleted twice as many as that, called her three times, and left the single most embarrassing voicemail in his life. (It even topped the one time he drunk-dialed his old lacrosse coach because he had seen him at a bar and that he had ruined _Independence Day_ for him because he couldn't hear the speech at the end without hearing his voice reciting it before every state championship, and that he loved him.)

And so when Allison had said to just talk to Lydia and implied that Lydia had _wanted_ that dance and that "she deserves who she wants" (how fucking unhelpful was that, by the way?), it sent him into a spiral.

Because maybe he hadn't imagined those touches or those looks, and that was all a little too much to handle. Especially if he had to go and tell Deaton that he had abandoned the mission to save her (at least twice, maybe three times).

And if he hadn't imagined them...he didn't know why she had ran.

But then she had come up to him, in the midst of what was inching closer to a panic attack, and it was like her entire presence both relaxed him and wound him even tighter.

It didn't take much for him to spill his guts to her, going on about the mission and her and _them_ even though there wasn't really a "them."

He was in the midst of his own personal tornado, hell burning all around him, but then her hands had come to his cheeks, the soft pad of her thumb grounding him, leading him like a tether back to reality, and he couldn't stop his eyes from going to her lips. This was the closest they'd been since that night, and he didn't know if it was going to be taken away from him.

And then her lips were on his, he was in the eye of the tornado, and everything whited out.

He kept his eyes open for a few seconds longer than was normal, but he was taken a little by surprise, sue him. But he saw her own eyes screwed shut, and he followed suit.

Kissing Lydia was everything and nothing like he thought it would be.

Stiles had thought it would be more desperate maybe, or even faked (they'd gone undercover as an engaged couple before it wasn't that far off to think they'd one day have to kiss for a cover), or rushed and sloppy, because maybe he would only have the courage to kiss her when he was drunk, and maybe she would only want to if she was.

(He had wanted it to be like this, however. Normal and slow but filled with meaning.)

It was just a gentle push and pull of their lips, he didn't even have time to move his arms from his sides before she was drifting backwards, her upper lip dragging down his lower one before the pressure was gone.

His eyes opened almost immediately, the lack of contact nearly just as jarring as the initiation of it, because now that he knew what it was like to kiss Lydia Martin...he didn't want to do anything else. But her eyes stayed closed, even as she pulled back, her hands curling into her chest from his cheeks, her brows furrowed as if she was confused.

For the brief second, he let himself look at her, to memorize what she looked like when she kissed him—her strawberry blonde hair in a simple braid over her shoulder, minimal makeup but still gorgeous, a light blue dress buttoned in the front up to her collarbone that was looser than her usual wardrobe. And his heart nearly stopped again when he realized she was wearing his sweatshirt (just a simple dark grey one with thin horizontal stripes at the shoulders), the one she had worn that night they were researching and he he had never seen it again. And now he was so happy she had stolen it, because the sleeves were rolled up at her hands, and it fell to her thigh, and she looked so much better in it than he did.

Then her eyes opened, and it was like the shine of an emerald, like sunlight bouncing off the water of a secluded cove, like a forest full of monsters but he wasn't afraid to go in because he knew the monsters were friendly.

He breathed out shakily, surprised that he could even breathe normally again when just a few seconds ago he was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Wh-whoa," he exhaled, more of a feeling than actual thoughts. "H-how'd you do that?"

She kept looking at him like she was trying to figure something out (or maybe she had finally figured that something out), this look of hope and awe mixing in her gaze. "Ask me to go get coffee," she replied softly, and that was not what he was expecting. "When I asked you if you expected me to believe that you didn't want to see me, you said that you would've asked me to get coffee."

Slowly, the memory came back to him, of leaning against the very wall he was leaning against now, Lydia coming closer than she needed to, her lips pouty and eyelashes fluttering. And he had managed to flirt back with her, his voice coming husky like it was a normal thing he did: flirt with Lydia Martin. Like his life was wake up, research, flirt with Lydia Martin, play video games with Scott, go to sleep, repeat.

"O-oh..." he murmured, realizing what she was really asking him to do.

(To accept her: the genius actress with a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind.)

(To forgive her for the past forty-eight hours of hell because, judging by the way her voice was shaking, they had been hell for her too.)

(To do the simplest thing of all and ask her on a date.)

"So ask me to go get coffee," she repeated, her voice a little stronger, a little more sure of what she was asking.

"Come get coffee with me, Lydia," he breathed, almost afraid to phrase it as a question because then she could say no, but sure enough of her response to not.

"Of course," she grinned, and he gave her his lopsided smile because his heart felt lighter than air.

And when he would go in to tell Deaton all about Alpha Pack and Peter Hale probably being behind them, doing his best impression of Claudius from _Hamlet_ and trying to take his place as the head of the Hale empire—or maybe it was Derek's slightly insane, slighted ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Blake, who hired the Alphas—he would be calm. And he would tell Deaton in a resigned but even tone about the encoded email Malia and Theo had sent him, a cheeky note that said, " _We look forward to seeing you two again_."

Because he had a date with Lydia, and that was all he had ever wanted was a chance.

And then they would go to Scott's office, Allison, Danny, and Ethan already there. And Danny would tell them that Mason owed him fifty bucks and Allison would beam so brightly it outshone the fluorescents (and Scott would look at her like she outshone the moon), telling them "finally."

But right now, all he wanted to do was kiss Lydia again (because she couldn't solve Rubik's Cubes but he could do them in his sleep...because saving her was the only thing he managed to get right on that mission...because she was Lydia and he was Stiles and he couldn't help loving her), so he leaned in, brushing a flyaway hair away from her face, and kissed her.

She kissed him back immediately, this kiss just as sweet and gentle as the first one, it was like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. His hand grounding himself at her hip, his fingers curling and bunching up the fabric of her (his) sweatshirt slightly, the other pulling her closer with a hand on her cheek, and her hands flew back to his cheeks as she kissed him almost desperately, a sigh escaping into his mouth.

And, yeah, they would be given another impossible mission, but they were the Impossible Mission Force after all. They could handle it.

They could handle anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ending! You didn't think I wasn't going to have a Stydia kiss, did you?? I love the 3x11 (panic attack) kiss so much I just had to do my own little twist on it here!
> 
> I know I left some things a bit more open-ended, but I love this little world I created and I hope you do too, because there is a high chance I will write more in this AU in the future. More missions, one-shots, Corasaac or Maleo fics, idk!
> 
> (Although, don't expect them too soon, I still have like three other TW fics I'm trying to write AND NaNoWriMo, so it might be a while.)
> 
> Please please please let me know what you think. Of this ending, of this fic, whatever, I love reading comments. They're literally the best part of my day.
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading!!


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